


Negative Space

by xantissa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Ed, BAMF Maes, BAMF Roy, Blow Jobs, But they fix it, Drunk Sex, Flame Alchemy, Fluff and Angst, Fuhrer Roy Mustang, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Original Characters - Freeform, Roy and Ed make bad choices, The Gate took more than sight from Roy, War, bad choices, do not copy to another site, happy endings, only manage to break their hearts, oversensitivity, they don't talk, they try to get something nice between all the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 74,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: It’s always been about the things they don’t say, the things they don’t do.or:Ed grows up, Roy notices, Ed is not sure what he thinks about Roy noticing.Both Roy and Ed get themselves into the kind of mess only they can.Starts in the middle of the series and spans a few years after the finale.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 150
Kudos: 834





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m stretching the time it took for Ed to find out about the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone, in order to age him up a few years more than he was in manga/anime.  
> Huge thanks to the stunning The Amazing Beta:  
>  [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith)
> 
> And one the one and only, irreplaceable one person cheerleeding squad:  
>  [Helene](https://misspaperjoker.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you all so much!

Roy steepled his fingers in front of his face and made sure to keep any expression other than superior amusement hidden away. He and Fullmetal had a fairly set choreography of communication. Fullmetal would come back from any given mission, weeks (sometimes months) late, barge into his office all attitude and ‘Colonel Bastard’ insults, while handing in a report that was ninety percent bullshit, five percent actual facts and the rest thinly veiled insults. Roy had to admit he was getting better at the last bit -- without using any curses, he managed to insinuate incompetency, stupidity, and laziness of personnel involved in the last clusterfuck.

Roy wasn’t even really listening, half of his brain busy trying to insert as many short puns into his answers as possible to rile Ed more. The other half of his brain was busy cataloguing the changes to Fullmetall. The boy -- young man at this point, really -- was wearing his trademark black leather pants, this pair different from his old pair in that it no longer fit like a second skin. His red coat had become a red jacket sometime in the last year. Roy couldn't help but notice how much space Ed was taking up on his couch. When he'd first came to Roy, he could curl up on the couch and sleep there without a problem. Nowadays if Fullmetal tried to lay down on the couch, most of his legs stuck out over the arms. Roy kind of missed him sleeping in his office, missed knowing he could provide a safe space for him to rest. These days Fullmetal, while still shorter than most men in the office, was as wide in the shoulders as any other soldier and a hundred times more deadly.

Roy watched him rage against the latest insinuation of shortness, his messy braid flopping like a living thing against his shoulders. The same shoulders that stretched the already short jacket to what its limits. Roy suspected Fullmetal had been adjusting the coat to accommodate his increased shoulder width by using the length. He wondered how short it would get before Al forced him to buy a new coat.

He found himself hoping that when he _did_ get a new one, it would be red; he liked the dramatic flair the older Elric had, and the contrast of golden hair, deep red coat and all black attire otherwise.

He enjoyed watching the way the new leather pants fit over Fullmetal’s legs, and the look and sound of the new, heavy boots as the young man stomped around the office in his easily sparked rage.

Roy got so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t realize Ed had stopped talking, his golden, way-too-sharp eyes focusing on Roy and his brows furrowing.

Roy was too busy trying to guess how big the kid would grow to notice. He loved to tease him about his lack of height, but he knew that was just a matter of age. He was already growing into his breadth, dealing with the automail and the sheer misery of his childhood, all the traumatic injuries, not even mentioning any more that both his arm and leg were metal prostheses. Roy couldn’t even imagine how it must have affected his body.

The military was no help, of course, despite the fact that the missions were responsible for at least half of his injuries, and Roy knew he carried that guilt also. The fact was, with what he and Al had done, Ed would have ended up on the military’s radar anyway. There was no way he would have been allowed to live in peace, even if he wanted to.

So Roy did what he had to, traded favors and sold a few more pieces of his already tarnished soul, to ease Ed’s way in his quest to restore his brother’s body.

Watching him grow up wasn’t part of the plan. In all his schemes and his expectations of the ridiculously powerful child, Roy somehow hadn't expected him to grow from a child into a young man.

An unfairly handsome young man.

“You are watching me,” Ed said, slow and serious, his eyes boring into Roy with the kind of certainty that Roy knew from experience was unshakable.

He considered briefly turning it back onto Ed. For all of his intelligence, Roy was still the better talker. He could sow enough confusion, push the embarrassment back at Ed to cut this out at the root.

He met the too-old golden eyes. Ed had gone through so much pain in his short life, sacrificed so much -- everything he was -- to pay for his sins, to fix what he broke.

Roy thought about the pain, the betrayal he could bring if he tried hard enough. He knew enough of Ed’s secrets to do it efficiently, knew the most vulnerable spots. He could push the blame onto Ed and clear himself of as much of it as he wanted.

But he couldn’t do it.

“Is that a problem, Fullmetal?” Roy asked, trying not to let the panicked emotions show on his face. He'd accepted a long time ago that he was irredeemable, his soul and whatever worth he'd once had long lost, burned away in the Ishval sands. And while his quest for leadership meant he had to hide those broken pieces of himself under a veneer of sophistication and control, Ed didn’t deserve to be the victim of his sharp tongue. He had enough on his plate. And maybe some small, masochistic part of himself _wanted_ Ed to condemn him. Because for all of what Ed was and did, his moral compass was impeccable. Some days, Roy thought he was almost _too_ good in his quest to be the perfect Colonel, the perfect soldier everybody would love, almost believed he was a war hero not a mass murderer. Being reminded how much of a monster he was would only serve him well.

Ed was quiet, staring at him with eyes that Roy, for once, couldn’t read.

In the end, Ed said nothing. He grabbed the folder with the new assignment from his desk and left, closing the door behind him instead of slamming it as he usually did.

Roy had no idea what that meant.

\---

He dreamed.

He knew he was dreaming because there was that fluid, strange logic to what was happening, logic that had nothing to do with real life but was entirely plausible in the context of a dream.

He was squished into a bed, lying on his belly, a heavy but familiar weight pressing him down. His heart was pounding and everything was heat and friction. He was making noises, sounds of pleasure, feeling it in every part of him. There was a firm hand on his neck, demanding and possessive, pressing him down as if the man over him had the right to do so. The man's other hand was at his hip, bruisingly tight, keeping him still as he thrust into him.

“That’s it,” the voice was low and rough, but overwhelmingly familiar. “Exactly like this.”

Ed jerked awake, dismayed and panting, his cock still pulsing hot come into his pants even as he cursed Mustang’s name.

He pressed his hand over his damp underwear, his cock still sparking with pleasure, the wet mess he'd made of himself only making him curse harder.

Fuck Mustang, fuck the bastard, and fuck his own body for good measure too.

It was all his fault, somehow, that he'd been dreaming increasingly obscene scenarios for months now. Scenarios in which he found himself under the bastard in one position or other, being held down and fucked as if Ed was born to take his cock.

The dreams never had a clear starting point, nothing specific. Wet dreams were part of puberty, he knew that -- he knew a fucking lot about bodies and biology. But he didn’t know why it had to be Mustang he dreamed about of all people.

Ed groaned and sat up, unspeakably grateful he was alone on this mission scoping out what was supposed to be a forgery operation, while Al was back in Central following another lead that couldn’t wait.

_Is that a problem, Fullmetal?_

Oh, yes. That.

That was what had started the whole mess.

As much as he would like to blame Mustang for all of it, he should have just fucking said that yes, it fucking was a problem. But no. He hadn't. And look where it got him.

In the months that followed that supremely awkward moment, the Colonel had continued to _watch_.

He didn’t do anything else, didn’t say anything, and definitely didn’t try to touch Ed or anything untoward. He wasn’t even overly creepy with the watching, much to Ed’s disquiet. Ed was used to perverts staring at his ass or his crotch.

But Mustang never did anything that obvious. He did drag his eyes over Ed as if Ed were a completely new and exciting thing whenever he came in to report, but he also tended to linger on things like shoulders or hands…

It made Ed feel uncomfortable, disquieted but also… good. Attractive. Like he was something whole, something other people would look at with pleasure...or desire.

He knew it was bullshit, of course. Nobody who knew what he did or what was under his clothes - a mass of scarring and half his limbs metal - nobody wanted to look at him with anything even close to the interested appreciation he could see in Mustang’s eyes.

It felt good. It was a guilty little pleasure, but no matter how shitty the mission or how shitty his orders were, there were those few moments when he could pretend to be someone else, someone whole and worthy of appreciation.

It didn’t mean anything, though, not really. Ed had met enough perverts and predators on his travels to know not to expect anything more than interested looks from Mustang. As much as he loved to hate the useless, manipulative, sleazy bastard and his shady dealings, a deep, feral part of him knew that there was nothing to be afraid of from that side. Mustang would, and had, taken advantage of Ed’s alchemy to further his goals, but he always… smoothed Ed’s way, and Ed knew that. He wasn’t stupid, was an actual genius, and he could see the patterns when opportunities opened for him to investigate the Philosopher’s Stone, access to places no civilian would ever be allowed.

It was almost like unspoken game they were playing, where Ed maybe put a little more care into how he looked when he went in to report, and Mustang rehashed old insults while his eyes tracked Ed across the room.

It was… nice, almost. A harmless distraction that Ed could allow himself without harming his quest.

And then the dreams had started.

Mustang touching him, pressing him down, jerking him off, rubbing himself over Ed, fucking him. Since Ed had never actually seen Mustang naked, his brain came up with indistinctive shapes and impressions. Naked skin and strong hands. Teeth scraping hard bruises into his skin. Hands holding him down with unyielding power. The worst, absolute worst, wasn’t even the pleasure; the worst was how hot it made him when dream-Mustang ordered him around.

Ed knew his life was fucked up, but Mustang had managed to introduce him to a whole new level.

\---

Ed thought he knew what Mustang’s alchemy meant. He'd gotten to fight him ,after all and mostly gotten his ass kicked. He knew then that if they'd been fighting for real, he would have been crisped. As it was, he managed to keep up, even though he knew a fight on the parade grounds was nothing like a real fight, where one’s life was on the line. He already had the scars to prove it by then, and only got more as time went on.

He knew the theory behind flame alchemy, knew enough to guess that the whole snapping fingers trick was just a bullshit, showy move to hide the fact it was actually atmospheric manipulation. Mustang had to control humidity, oxygen levels, air movement, as well as a dozen other factors to be able to direct the path of the flames. It seemed like a fuckload of work for an extremely narrowly applicable result. He preferred his own style.

Still, knowing the basics was not nearly enough preparation for seeing Mustang lose his shit.

Ed stared at the conflagration pulsing out of what used to be a mansion two hours west from Kissel. Located near the water, between three thickly forested hills, the mansion was well hidden from prying eyes.

Ed wasn’t even supposed to be there -- only Hawkeye’s request had made him come after the Colonel, who apparently hid from his team the fact he was investigating something.

Ed had watched him schmooze some rich people for a few days and then suddenly go out here and talk his way into the mansion. At first he thought it was going to be just another day of wasting his time watching the bastard suck up to people purely because they were capable of boosting his career.

What he didn’t expect were three trucks of armed thugs that screeched up to the mansion not long after Mustang went in, nor the gunshots he could hear from his hiding spot in the trees.

He scrambled to his feet, cursing, trying to figure out a way to get into the building as quickly as possible, when the first explosion came: a huge ball of fire that blew out the eastern part of the roof. Before the first echoes of the blast had even stopped ringing in Ed’s ears there was another one, a pillar of fire arching up from the building, taking down the rest of the roof and expanding like a living tornado, a pillar of tightly whirling flame that was so hot it was nearly white. He could feel the burn stinging his cheeks from where he was frozen in surprise several hundred yards away. The flames didn’t let up, only rose, pulsing out again and again, eating up more of the building, then rolling out to fill the space around it, roaring so loud Ed was sure he was going to go deaf from it. It expanded again, and then again, consuming everything in its path. Ed realized that despite how far away he was, it was going to consume him too if he didn’t do something right this second.

He clapped, dropped to his knees and slammed his palms to the dry earth, managing to pull up enough to form a snug cave just before the flames reached him.

He waited, sweating, in the oven-like heat of his small hidey hole, until the eardrum-numbing roar of the flames died down.

When he clapped again and destroyed the smoldering shelter, he was met with a scene of utter destruction.

The building… well, there was no building left, not really. The east wing had blown clear out, and all the windows and most of the walls on the rest of it was also gone. The white stone and pretty blue glaze were now uniformly black, and a haze of stinking heat hovering over ground scorched into black nothingness. Pillars of black and grey smoke rose almost lazily from the incinerated wreckage. It wasn’t just the building or the greenery around the house that had melted into unrecognizable mounds of steaming ash. Even the three trucks were nothing more than melted heaps of iron, plastic, rubber and cloth all but evaporated in the heat. Just looking at the destruction mae Edward’s eyes burn, the heat painful on his skin.

It was hard to imagine that anybody had survived the conflagration. To get into the building, or rather what was left of it, Ed had to transmute a trench almost as deep as he was tall, and even at that depth the ground was so hot the soles of his boots started to soften as he walked.

It was a shock to round the corner of one of the few remaining walls and see Mustang standing in the middle of the debris. Around him, amidst the black, smoking ash, was a neat circle untouched by the destruction. A white marble floor, a green chair, a small glass table holding a vase with fucking flowers in it, all of it pristine and unharmed by the absolute devastation around them, and in the middle of it was the Colonel. He wasn’t in his uniform, just a somber black suit, black coat hanging folded neatly over his arm, his gloves a stark white against the darkness of his clothes. Ed was all too aware of the bodies he'd passed getting to the building, charred and twisted into painful shapes but undeniably human. There must have been at least twenty men that had come in the trucks, more probably in the house itself.

Mustang had killed them all.

Painfully, if quickly, he killed them all with a fucking snap of his fingers.

This was why Ed didn’t bother studying his brand of alchemy. There was something cheap, something cowardly and unfeeling in killing this _easily_ and this _efficiently_. Ed felt that if you were forced to kill, you ought to do it with your own hands so that you never forgot the faces of the people whose lives you took.

“You killed them,” Ed said blankly, staring at the neat circle of untouched floor around Mustang, at the fact neither heat nor flames seemed to have touched him.

It took a moment for Mustang to move. He didn’t look at Ed, just shifted his head enough so that Ed could see the barest outline of his cheek.

“Fullmetal,” he said, and there was a strange hollowness to his voice that Ed would remember later, although all he heard now was the total lack of inflection, as if Mustang didn't even notice he was standing in the center of a mass grave of his own making. Those people that had died in his flames might have been thugs, but they didn’t deserve to be wiped out like ants. They didn't deserve to be met with this kind of power, this kind of impersonal, inescapable inferno that wiped anything in its wake.

Briefly, Ed thought about ground troops, about hundreds -- no, thousands -- of people on the battlefield. Thought of Ishval, and of those people facing off against an alchemist of Mustang’s capabilities.

It wouldn't even be a battle, it would be an extermination. Mustang, as he'd just proved, could kill people by the hundreds with just a snap of his fingers.

“You didn’t even…” he choked on the recriminations. “You didn't even fucking try!” He was getting his voice back, the numbness pushed away by raising rage. “You just killed them!”

Mustang could have called him in to help. Ed was good at fighting multiple opponents without killing them. Guns would have made it harder but not impossible. He could have taken those people down without slaughtering them.

“There are tunnels under the house, leading to the river,” Mustang said in that same flat tone of voice.

Ed stared at him in speechless despair. He didn’t even have the decency to feel fucking anything.

The Colonel didn’t say anything more, just turned his back to Ed and walked away, his shoulders straight and steps measured as he used Ed’s trench to get away from the scene of the crime, leaving Ed with all that mess to clean up.

\---

Roy was doing his best to get drunk. He hadn't started on this mission all that long ago -- organizing the cleanup had eaten up into his day -- but now that he was in a bar he was going to make good use of it. He sat down at the end of the bar closest to the bartender and kept the shots coming as fast as he could stomach the awful whisky.

He'd only just got a buzz going, nowhere near truly wasted yet, when one of the other patrons stumbled against him. He was tall and burly, probably a miner judging from the state of his clothes and his hands, the dark stains forever etched into his fingers.

Roy was wearing his dark suit, not in uniform. He didn’t want to be recognizably military, not when investigating the particular matter that brought him here. The collision, however, caused his watch to fall out of his pocket, the heavy silver clanging loudly against the barstool as it swung slowly on its chain. It felt like some kind of scene in a movie: everyone in the bar stopped talking, every eye following the silver watch that marked him as a State Alchemist.

Damn it. He'd come here to get drunk, to wash away the memory of what had happened, of the fucking pictures and the incriminating evidence, the fact of nobody caring what happened to those girls. He wanted to wash away the memory of the whole wretched day and he hoped to do it with booze.

The problem with Kissel was that the town had a really bad history with their military presence. There’d been civil unrest in the town at least twice in Roy’s memory, both times people rebelling against unfair treatment by the military officials posted here and both times bloodily resolved by State Alchemists, what with the town being this close to Central City.

It was a fairly common knowledge that a State Alchemist would come to Kissel only in search of trouble, and the people’s hatred was well and truly entrenched into the community.

“You,” the man who had jostled him said, stepping closer. His hands were fisted tightly at his sides and his eyes had that wide, staring look Roy was all too familiar with. “You fucking attack dog, you think you have the right to come here after what you did? You think you can come here and drink, after all the death your kind brought?”

Roy could see, even through the building haze of drunkenness, that this was not going to end well. The man was getting redder in the face, fists raised, indicating a clear willingness to fight. A murmur went around the room from other, less brave, patrons, a supportive murmur that only served to encourage the big man more. Somebody else got up, there was a tinkle of glass breaking. The bartender tried to talk things down, but the man ignored him.

Roy downed another shot. He'd intended to wash his sins away in booze, but blood wouldn’t be all that bad of a second choice.

He set the glass down and tugged his gloves off slowly, stuffing them carefully into his pocket along with his watch. No matter what happened he wasn’t going to use his alchemy against unarmed civilians.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, you fucking dog!” The man had lost his patience, the wildness in his eyes a testimony of helpless grief that Roy was too used to seeing in the mirror. He grabbed a handful of Roy’s coat and dragged him around to face him, the other fist already raised to strike. “You have no fucking right to show your face here, you goddamn murderer!”

Roy watched the fist descend and… did nothing. His nostrils were full of ash and his mind full of memories, new and old, and maybe getting pounded into the ground would knock them out.

The punch never landed.

There was a snarl and something connected with the man hard enough to send him staggering back.

“Back. Off.” The words were low, barely more than a snarl, but they raised the hair on the back of Roy's neck, so much threat in the sound. He saw the surprisingly wide shoulders in front of him, the distinctive golden braid, the familiar red coat with the flamel on the back, and had the ludicrous thought that Ed must have caved finally and bought a new coat, as it was again a proper length. “Or I will _make_ you back off.”

Ed sounded wild, his words barely more than a snarl. His body was coiled and ready to spring, ready to fight as he shifted to keep the bigger man in his sights, keeping Roy firmly shielded behind him.

“Don’t tell me what to do, kid,” the big man scoffed and swung. It wasn’t a bad swing -- the man clearly had some brawling experience. He was fast and put most of his formidable bulk behind it. It would really hurt if it connected.

Ed was a martial artist of a level rarely found outside of professionals, and even amongst them his fighting experience surpassed most. He ducked under the swing, fast and fearless, coming in close and delivering a viciously fast uppercut to the man’s jaw. He was using his flesh arm, Roy noticed idly. If he'd used the automail, the man would be severely wounded, maybe dead, in a matter of seconds.

The attacker fell back, shocked and unbalanced by the strength of the blow. Ed didn't let up, he followed up with a harsh kick to the man’s middle, sending him skidding across the room to fetch up against the nearest table, overturning it and getting pelted by the glass and drinks that were on it.

There was a feral type of quickness to Ed’s movement. His fighting wasn’t elegant, wasn’t something you could see in competitions. It was survival instinct and rage, stunning spatial awareness, and more power than his compact frame should be capable of. Ed was wild and dangerous and everybody in the pub knew it.

Then Ed clapped, and there was a crackle of energy. From behind Roy couldn't tell, but the movement of his shoulders, surprisingly powerful for his frame, suggested he'd just transmuted his automail arm into a blade. The shudder of fear that travelled through the people in the pub was tangible; Roy could almost taste it on his tongue.

“Back off,” he repeated and this time there were no murmurs. Somebody pulled the groaning man off the floor and edged warily past Ed to pull him out of the pub. Ed only moved enough to keep an eye on the pair, staying close to Roy, keeping himself squarely between any possible attackers and Roy.

Protecting Roy.

Even _after_ calling him a murderer just hours ago.

Tired and sick with the memories rattling in his head, Roy decided to pretend all of this was a hallucination and turned back to the bar, drowning the last two shots he'd ordered in quick succession.

“I need more,” he called to the bartender, pretending not to hear the growl coming from Fullmetal at his words.

“What you need is food and some coffee,” Ed said, clearly straining to not yell.

“Leave me be, Fullmetal,” Roy snapped, taking his glare off the bartender cowering at the furthest end of the bar and turning it on Ed. “I need a drink.”

“I’m taking you to get some food and then to your hotel,” Ed said, some of the growl still in his voice. Roy noticed how the bartender flinched at the sound, and wondered at how a boy not yet eighteen could project this much aggression and pure, bloody-minded determination. He had no doubt that if he forced the issue, Ed would perform some ridiculous and impossible feats of alchemic transformation to force Roy to go along with him. Sometimes it really irked him, how much better Ed was at alchemy.

“Who made you my minder?” he complained, feeling the fuzzy bitterness of drunkenness taking away his anger.

“Hawkeye,” Ed said, clapping again to put away the blade. He grabbed Roy's arm and hooked it over his shoulder, forcing Roy to stand.

Damn.

Roy knew Ed was strong -- between the automail and the physical feats he was known to perform, he had to be strong or he would have broken long ago -- but he'd never expected to feel his strength this close up. The next thing he knew Ed had hauled him up without any visible strain and was marching him out of the bar at a pace Roy wasn’t nearly sober enough to maintain. A few minutes later, he was being pushed him into a seat in what he assumed was some kind of cafe a few minutes down the road from the pub.

“Why are you here, Fullmetal?” Roy mumbled.

Ed growled and turned away, stomping angrily to the counter and ordering. Roy watched idly, letting the alcohol numb him to everything, as Ed came back with a few foil-wrapped sandwiches and a big cup of coffee.

“Eat,” he said, not nearly as angrily as Roy expected.

Roy watched as Ed unwrapped his own sandwich and started eating it, his white gloves surprisingly clean given what he must have been doing all day. Gloves he wore to conceal the automail arm, just like the coat and the heavy boots. It occurred to Roy that Ed had been hiding his body for most of his life and it struck him as incredibly sad. He was such a blindingly attractive person, he deserved to reap some benefits for once in his life.

“Fullmetal,” Roy said again, thinking back to the shocked betrayal in his voice earlier that day.

_“You didn’t even… You didn't even fucking try!”_

_“You just killed them!”_

And he had, hadn’t he?

With just a snap of his fingers, he'd killed every fucking living thing in that house.

“I found the tunnels,” Ed said, looking down at his sandwich. His hands were very still. His head was bent, so his hair obscured his eyes completely. “I found the girls.”

The Ishvalan girls, the white-haired, red-eyed little girls Kessler was kidnapping and selling to brothels in Drachma. The girls whose disappearances the police and military refused to investigate. Roy didn’t know how far the conspiracy went, whether it was a deliberate act or merely a product of racism, but Kessler had been doing this for years and nobody'd done anything about it.

“The youngest wasn’t even five years old,” Ed said, his voice cracking at the last word.

“I’m sorry,” Roy said tiredly, tired of the endless cruelty of the world, of the endless proof of the corruption in the government, of the misery that nothing seemed to fix.

“You knew,” Ed said, looking up Roy, his eyes strangely dark.

“No,” Roy said. “Colonel Mustang is on leave today, visiting friends outside the city. The Fullmetal Alchemist only _happened_ to see the illegal ammunition storage explosion and called in help. As per protocol.”

Ed’s eyes flicked over his face, then down to the dark suit and back again, his lightning-quick mind already cottoning on to what Roy meant.

The food tasted like ash, the coffee even worse. Roy ate stolidly, loath to lose the buzz he needed so much. He was deliberately difficult when Ed hoisted him up again and took him to the hotel, which was (probably not accidentally) close to the pub. Roy was a good strategist; he was planning to get absolutely smashed, he wasn’t going to be able to walk far.

Somewhere between the street and the stairs, Roy became painfully aware of the easy strength of Ed’s body, his scent, his closeness. While still short, he was no longer a child. The way he hauled Roy around, his arm like iron around his back, sent a sharp little thrill through him. Ed smelled like ash. It seemed fitting, really. Everything in Roy’s life turned to ash, sooner or later. He watched the messy bangs, the hard line of his jaw, and thought that if he didn’t do something to take his mind off of what he'd done, he would break and then god only know how that would end. Alcohol and sex were his usual go-to’s when things got too hard, but getting beaten to a pulp wasn’t a bad second choice.

\---

Ed wasn’t expecting the shift in balance, wasn't expecting Mustang to suddenly stop hanging half off him, to turn and push him against the wall the moment they entered the hotel room.

“What?” he snapped, hiding his worry under the familiar coarseness of irritation.

Mustang was supposed to untouchable, the scheming bastard that always landed on his feet. He wasn’t supposed to be this… _human_. He wasn’t supposed to be dishevelled, with his hair all in his eyes, drunk and so miserable Ed could smell it pouring off of him.

He also wasn’t supposed to be the one to get his hands dirty solving problems. That was what Ed was for. Mustang was supposed to be safely hidden behind his desk, plotting world domination. He wasn’t supposed to be saving Ishvalan girls who were being sold into slavery.

Mustang didn't say anything, his body warm and heavy as it pressed against Ed. He smelled of alcohol, ash, fire, and underneath it all, his probably stupidly expensive cologne. He smelled good, and Ed felt incredibly bitter that even drunk he still looked way too good.

The last thing Ed expected was for Mustang to kiss him. And he didn't even have the decency to make it bad. No. The bastard made it good. The touch of his lips, dry and gentle, as he kissed from the corner of Ed’s lips down to the lower lip, tugging gently with his lips, coaxing Ed to open up.

Ed curled his metal hand into a fist, feeling it scratch against the plaster, unsure what to do. He should hit Mustang, yell at him maybe. Should do something, anything, instead of just standing there blinking as if getting slapped by backlash from a failed transmutation.

But.

But it felt good. Mustang felt good. Roy Mustang was kissing him. Suddenly a flash of dream-memory hit him, of black hair trailing in the sweat on Ed’s back, hands clenched tightly on Ed’s hips. He shuddered, blinking the memory away, trying and failing to focus on the here and now.

“Is this okay?” Mustang was murmuring against his lips, moist and hot, making it even harder to know what was real and what was just a dream. His voice was low, soft, and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Ed opened his mouth to tell him to stop talking, stop asking unnecessary questions. Mustang pressed closer. The line of his body firm and heavy against Ed, blocking away the world. It chased away whatever rational thought managed to make its way back to Ed’s mind, back into the fuzzy blankness Mustang’s touch brought.

Ed curled his metal hand against the wall, using it to brace against it. He raised his flesh hand, intending to use it to stop this insanity because this couldn’t really be happening. Nothing good ever happened to him, not like this.

Mustang was pulling back now, his lips trailing Ed’s cheek, wet and soft and Ed had no idea something so _gross_ could feel this _good_. He pushed into the touch, not even thinking what he was doing. He just wanted more of it, more touch. Just _more_.

“Tell me,” Mustang murmured, voice unbelievably low, the words barely breathed against Ed’s skin. “Is this okay?” He was rubbing his cheek against Ed’s, like a big cat.

Then he was pulling back, looking at Ed, his eyes dark and secretive. "Is it?"

It took a moment for Ed to realize Mustang wasn’t going to stop asking. That the man would keep stringing Ed up and up, making it harder and harder to think straight, until Ed gave him permission. It made something twist up in his belly, in his chest. He didn’t want to _talk_ , he just wanted to _feel_.

“Yes,” Ed mumbled into Mustang’s lips, voice catching. His mind was offline, his body busy cataloguing how he felt. The heat pouring off of Mustang. The scent of ozone and fire. The way his own body shuddered at each touch.

Mustang was _kissing him back_ now. He was licking slow and sure into Ed’s mouth. Like he wanted this, as if _Ed_ was something he wanted. His hands were somehow on Ed’s sides, fingers searching for the hem of Ed’s jacket. It was... good. Mustang was slow and confident, not a shred of hesitation in his touch and it recalled the dreams, the half-realized snatches of memory, Mustang touching him with firm hands, pressing him down, his body as warm and heavy as Ed thought it would be.

Ed slid his hands under the smooth material of the suit jacket and felt the wicked heat of the other man’s skin. He hoped, muzzily, that Roy would do something horrible, something to bring sanity back. But he didn’t. He had the unmitigated gall to kiss and fucking ask if it was _okay_ , when he tugged Ed into the room. What was worse, he _kept_ asking, breathy little questions as he divested Ed of his clothes with hands too skillful by half, as he kissed and nipped down Ed’s neck, and holy hell, why did nobody ever tell him his neck could feel this good?

Ed did his best to get Mustang to lose as many layers as possible, Trying to open buttons one-handed was an exercise in frustration, so in the end he just fisted his flesh hand in Mustang’s collar and pulled him down on top of him when he felt the edge of the bed against the back of his knees.

By the time he was on his back on the thin hotel mattress with Mustang's weight pressing him down, Ed had stopped even pretending he was going to do anything else but go with it.

Mustang’s breath smelled of alcohol and toothpaste, of all things, his hair even more all over the place once Ed got his fingers there. Ed couldn’t see much, given that Mustang wouldn’t let him up for a breath for longer than a few seconds, but he could _feel_. And what he felt was bones and strong muscles stretched under surprisingly scarred skin where he managed to worm his hand under Mustang’s shirt.

Some small, sane part of Ed wanted to pause, to ask "why now?", but Mustang's cock grinding against his belly was making his brain misfire, and when Mustang got Ed’s pants down enough to wrap his hand around Ed’s cock the last vestiges of rationality sailed out of the window. He only managed enough coordination to yank and push at Mustangs own pants. He wanted to feel that cock against his skin, wanted to feel it in his hand.

Mustang made a sound, low and rough, as he got his hand around it. Hot, like everything the man did. Smooth and firm, sliding against the palm of his hand deliciously. He never actually touched another man’s cock before, never really even thought about it. Or about girls. He only ever thought of Al, to be honest. Sex… sex wasn’t on the menu. He'd thought he didn't have the time for it. But now, panting under Mustang’s touch, sweating like a racehorse and jerking his fucking CO off, he couldn’t even remember how it felt _not_ to want this. His heart was going a mile a minute and he felt alive, felt fucking beautiful, as Mustang did his damned best to rock Ed’s world.

When the man got their cocks aligned and wrapped his hand around them, Ed lost it. He made noise, probably shouted, but he didn't care. Not when every nerve was on fire in his body, his skin, and his mind was wiped of every thought but the pleasure spiralling higher and higher. When he came, it was like a thousand fireworks going off in his head, his vision going white. He only managed to come to in time to see Mustang throw his head back, sweat beaded on his neck, down the tantalizing hollow of his neck, as he came too, his come splashing hotly against Ed’s skin.

Ed held him as he shuddered through his own release, feeling how swollen his own lips were, how his heart slowly began going back to something approaching normal. Mustang was heavy against him, anchoring him to the bed, surrounding him with familiar yet new scent, his breath hot and steady against Ed’s shoulder.

It took Ed a moment to realize he was carding his fingers through the other man’s hair. It took even longer to realize Mustang was asleep against him and that Ed… didn’t quite mind.

Ed realized, with slowly dawning horror, that he just had sex with his drunk commanding officer.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed stomped into the bathroom, cheeks burning in embarrassment and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the thin walls. He stripped off his sleep pants and threw them onto the floor to be dealt with later. Then he turned on the shower and stepped in, trying to forget Al’s hunched, embarrassed shape on the other bed.

Not only had the dreams about Mustang not stopped, they'd ramped up in how explicit they were. Apparently now that his brain had something specific to latch onto, it really went all out.

What used to be indistinct sensations were now explicit memories of Mustang's scent, his body pressed to Ed's. His hands on Ed. The way he was mouthing at Ed’s scars, as if even that part of Ed was somehow hot, sexy. Ed shuddered, his spent cock twitching. Dream-Mustang’s voice, when he told Ed to spread his legs. _Fuck._ Ed closed his eyes and bumped his forehead repeatedly against the shower wall.

He was really and truly freaked out about what had happened with Mustang. He'd left within the hour, as soon as the sleeping Mustang had rolled off him, too jittery (and too sober) to just lay there and wait for Mustang to wake up. Besides, he was still reeling from the unexpectedness of what happened, and the idea of facing Mustang when he was still feeling so wrong-footed was enough to have him out the door, and out of town, as fast as possible.

By the time he was called into Mustang’s office to get another assignment a week later he had a wide range of responses and defenses prepared, should Mustang prove to be a bastard about what happened.

Surprisingly, he didn’t.

Mustang still watched him with those dark eyes that Ed couldn’t read most of the time, but outside of one question about Ed’s well-being he didn’t reference what had happened between them even once.

He also failed to make any of his usual "short" jokes, and Ed was surprised to find he… missed them. Not the references to his height, but the chance to blow up at Mustang in response to them.

Even when they were completely alone in his office, Mustang acted like he didn't even remember what happened between them. Some days Ed wondered if anything had actually happened. Maybe all of it was just an especially vivid dream?

He finished his shower and stepped out, drying himself as fast as possible. He didn’t have any other pants he could wear; it wasn't like he lugged a huge suitcase around when on a mission. One small bag, easily replaceable, was all he usually needed.

He sighed and picked up the pants, as sticky and gross they were. He put them into the sink and clapped. Arrays unfolded in his mind’s eye, the composition of the material as familiar to him as his automail by now. With a thought he let the chosen arrays come to life, one by one, separating the cloth from anything that wasn’t designed to be pants.

Once the reaction died down, all he had to do was shake the pants off and they were clean as new.

He repeated the process on the shirt, to get rid of the scent of sweat and the salt that had dried on it.

Afterward, he washed the crystals that fell off down the drain.

Once he was dressed, and no longer choking on his embarrassment, he stepped out into the dark room.

Al hadn't moved from the bed, the blanket covering his armored form in approximation of how a human-shaped body would lie down to rest.

Ed made his way to his bed, the flush back on his cheeks. He loved his brother, loved him with all his soul, but he really, really didn’t want him as a witness one of those Mustang dreams.

“Brother,” Al said in his hollow, metallic voice, when Ed laid back down on his rumpled bed.

“Can we just not talk about this?” Ed said quickly, blush burning hotter on his cheeks.

Al was quiet for a long while, but Ed could feel his attention on him anyway. “Is he really that… attractive?” Al asked finally.

Ed groaned, lifting his hands to cover his eyes, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said, hoping that pretending ignorance would make this whole thing go away.

“You call his name,” Al said, dryly.

Ed groaned again, turning onto his side, away from Al and curling up to better hide his burning cheeks. “No I don’t.”

“What I mean,” Al said, then stopped, obviously uncomfortable but trying to sound neutral. It only made him sound young. And lost. “I mean… what’s it like, to find somebody attractive?” There was a creak of armor as Al turned towards Ed. “What’s it like to _like_ them?”

Fuck.

Something in Ed’s chest twisted. “Al…”

“I don’t feel that.” Al's voice, distorted by the metal, sounded hollow.

Ed couldn’t even express his horror at the thought of Al looking at Mustang and feeling what Ed felt when he watched those scheming dark eyes.

“I don’t find people attractive,” Al continued in that same, artificially even tone of voice. “At all.”

Ed felt something very cold spill in his guts, chasing the embarrassment away as the meaning behind Al’s words sank in. “Al...” Ed licked his suddenly dry lips. “We will get your body back,” he said. “And you will get to go through the bullshit that is puberty. I swear. You will get to get stupid over some girl and…”

“What if I don’t?” Al asked, very quietly.

“What are you saying?”

“What if I’m going to stay like this?” Al made a vague gesture with his right gauntlet. “I keep… forgetting things. People’s faces. How it feels to be touched. How it feels to… touch somebody. Something. Anything.” His voice was getting softer now. “What if I forget completely? What if I can’t get all of that back, even if I have my body back?”

Too long. This whole thing was taking too long. Al, trapped in the suit of armor, was slowly forgetting how felt to be human. And Ed, with his own traitorous body, was leaving him behind. “I’m sorry,” Ed whispered, desperately, through a throat tight with panic. “I’m so sorry. I _will_ get your body back. No matter what it takes. I _swear_.”

Al was quiet for a long moment. “I wonder… if there’s going to be enough of me left to put into that body,” he said after a long pause.

“Al, don't think that.” Ed forced the words through a chest so tight it felt like all his ribs were broken. "Don’t give up. We will get your body and you will be alright. You _will_.” He had to be, because Ed would not, could not, survive losing him too. His eyes burned and his teeth ached from how hard he was clenching them against the sobs that threatened to overtake him. It couldn’t be too late. _Couldn’t_.

Al said nothing.

\---

The last thing Ed expected when he rolled back into Central was to be met by Havoc in civilian clothing, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips as he hijacked Ed’s bag and all but stuffed him into the backseat of his car.

Apparently, it was Riza Hawkeye's birthday, and they were _celebrating_.

"But I don't even have a present," Ed protested.

"No worries," Havoc said. "The Colonel splurged, something very expensive that's coming from the whole team, so you're covered."

The celebration turned out to be in one of the bars not far away from Central Command, a quiet little place with large wooden tables and some billiard tables. By the time Ed and Havoc got there, it must have been going for a while because everybody was at least a little buzzed and definitely off duty. Fury and Fallman were playing billiards at one of the tables like their lives were at stake. Hawkeye was wearing some kind of soft pants and a fancy long-sleeved shirt which, with her long hair loose, made her look stunningly attractive. She was sitting at the table with the Colonel and Maes Hughes, laughing at something the latter said. Mustang was out of uniform and in the familiar black suit. The jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his cuffs were open and the sleeves rolled back, exposing his forearms. The top button of his shirt was open, showing off the hollow of his throat, shockingly intimate in a man usually covered from head to toe. He held a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, and his hair was a mess, as if he ran his hands through it a lot. He kept looking between Riza and Maes, trying to look offended, but the fact he was laughing was spoiling his attempts.

He looked… Ed frowned, realizing he'd never seen Mustang this way. He looked relaxed. Happy.

Human.

“I found our lost lamb!” Havoc shouted over the din of the pub. “We can get the cake now!”

Mustang looked over at them, his eyes unguarded for a moment, soft and warm as they landed on Ed.

It felt like being hit, and his breath caught as memories rushed back, his skin pricking at the ghost sensation of Mustang’s touch. He remembered, suddenly and viscerally, the scent of Mustang's skin, the way it felt to have Mustang's body stretched over his own, those too-confident hands on his skin.

Ed had no idea what was showing on his face, what his eyes were betraying, everything or nothing, but Mustang’s eyes were still warm, still focused on him, not letting the contact go. He watched, helpless and unable to look away, as Mustang raised the cigarette to his lips and took a drag, exhaling the smoke slowly, eyes fixed on those familiar pale lips.

Ed licked his own, the remembered taste momentarily overwhelming.

Then Maes was between them, coming up to hug the stuffing out of Ed, pulling him deeper into the pub and insisting Ed look at the newest pictures of Garcia.

\---

It was starting to be a pattern. The moment the door of his house closed behind them, Roy pushed Ed against the wall of the narrow hallway, the ugly reproduction of the popular painting of a field of sunflowers Chris had forced on him falling to the floor with a hollow thud.

“What?” Ed snapped, eyes narrowed as they glared at him. Roy, his hands on Ed's shoulders, could feel stunningly hard human muscles under one hand, and unyielding metal under the other. Automail. Roy knew the kind of damage a metal limb of this quality could do. Considering how many fights Fullmetal got into, Roy was amazed he hadn’t left a trail of dead and mangled bodies in his wake.

Roy was feeling wild, jittery, with all the sensations crawling under his skin. He wanted this night to last, wanted to keep the laughter ringing in his ears, the easy camaraderie, the ease. He wanted to feel _good_. He pushed closer, bracing his elbow on the wall above Ed, boxing him in, taking advantage of their size difference. It was like pulling a tiger by its tail, stupidly dangerous but so exhilarating. He knew that in a purely physical match, Ed could wipe the floor with him in mere seconds. Roy used to be quite good at hand-to-hand but Ed was a natural martial artist, ridiculously good at taking down bigger and better-armed opponents.

Ed didn’t snap, though. His eyes were wide, eerily golden, and Roy wondered just what had to be swimming in his bloodline to give them that unique color.

So, that wasn’t enough to spark the famous Elric temper. Well, Roy could do better, he was sure. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the corner of that almost always downturned mouth. Roy hadn’t ever forced himself sexually on anybody and he wasn’t about to now. He just wanted something to happen, wanted to feel this wild energy Ed seemed to spend so easily, unbowed and unstoppable.

This close he could smell the warm scent of Ed’s skin, the leather he was so fond of wearing and the faint scent of sweat. It was so real, so alive. He pushed closer, immersing himself in the scent and kissed carefully the plush lower lip.

He could feel the tension in Ed, the way he radiated potential for violence. Ed wasn’t moving though, seemed frozen for reasons Roy couldn’t understand. Ed was short-tempered and foul-mouthed, but he was also stupidly pretty and famous. Roy was sure somebody must have kissed him before. Hell, Roy had kissed him before. He remembered that all too clearly, the way Ed had given in to him that last time, the way that compact, powerful body moved under his hands, the sounds he made.

The lips under his felt warm and soft, Ed’s harsh little pants though his nose chasing away the echoes of memories, the burning scent of dead bodies, making Roy focus on the here and now.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, never taking his lips away from Ed’s, tracing the warm feel of them. He put his free hand on Ed’s hip, sliding it up under the black jacket to feel the thin undershirt and the hard bump of Ed’s hipbone. He rubbed careful circles there, waiting for Ed to give him permission.

Ed didn't say anything, not with words, but he opened his mouth and exhaled, his breath warm and moist against Roy’s. He shifted, his flesh hand landing on Roy’s stomach, fingers spread but not pushing away. It snagged on the sides of his jacket and curled there.

Roy took that as consent, at least for this step, and tugged at Ed’s bottom lip, encouraging him to open wider, let him in. When Ed did, Roy pushed for a deeper kiss, licking carefully into him, trying to show Ed how good this felt for him. The air trapped between them was heating up, _changing_. Tables and equations were running through his head, the composition of an exhale, seventeen percent oxygen, four percent carbon dioxide, seventy-eight percent nitrogen, six percent water vapor, less than one percent of argon and other gasses. With so much nitrogen and oxygen, Roy always had all the resources he needed to transmute ammonia to give that additional bang to his flames, really just a matter of redistributing the nitrogen atoms, then add oxygen to… and then Ed decided to kiss him _back_ , his head tilting back and tongue venturing out to meet Roy’s and all the equations fled his mind instantly.

He moaned and pushed harder into the kiss, feeling a slow build of heat low in his spine at how unbowed Ed was, how he hesitated for barely a second before copying Roy near perfectly, his hand worming under Roy’s jacket to grip his ribs tightly.

They kiss turned hot and deep so much faster than Roy expected, wiping his mind of everything but the wet slide of their tongues and the subtle tang of metal in Ed’s taste.

Forgetting who he was with, or maybe just losing the veneer of humanity he used to fool people into believing the image he presented, Roy moaned into the kiss. He wanted to feel more, wanted to see if he could find more of that metallic taste. He wondered, almost giddily, if he could pull a few more of those little, surprised panting sounds out of Ed. He wanted -- needed -- to know, suddenly, viscerally, how Ed sounded when he was feeling good.

He dragged his lips over that still smooth cheek, to the sharp jut of his jaw, mouthing the alluring curve of bone there, nudging Ed’s head back. It sent a fierce line of heat through him, when Ed obeyed the cue, when he arched, giving Roy access to his neck, a soft, barely audible whine to his breath.

“Is this okay?” Roy whispered against the heated skin, pulling Ed closer yet and sealing his lips around the sharp jut of Ed’s Adam’s apple, sucking the skin there, feeling the shape of the cartilage barely hidden under the thin layer of skin.

“Fuck,” Ed groaned, his hand tightening against Roy’s side hard enough to bruise. Roy could feel the words, the vibration through the cartilage against his lips, felt as if he could swallow the sound, take it into himself. “I already said yes,” Ed growled, twisting under Roy’s hands but not trying to push away.

Roy dragged his teeth over Ed’s throat, licked into the hollow of it and thought again of that night in Kissei, of Ed wild and eager under his hands.

“Doesn’t work like that,” he said, voice dropping registers rapidly. “Not when I’m drunk.” And he was. Drunk. Not blackout drunk, not even _very_ drunk, but enough that he needed to ask, he needed to hear the answer, because he could never trust his judgement fully in this state. And things once done could not be taken back ever again. He put his lips on Ed’s throat again, sucking hard, wondering if he could leave marks that would last until their next meeting.

Ed growled, a startlingly feral sound that Roy licked from his throat, feeling the vibrations travel through his lips.

“Yes. _Again_ , you fucking bastard.” The second word was stronger, said almost angrily, as if Ed was irritated at himself for daring to hesitate for a single moment. The insult flew easily from Ed’s lips and Roy laughed even as he pushed even closer, aligning their bodies better, letting himself feel the firm resistance of that body. He trailed his lips down the freely offered throat, to the shoulder, lips finding the too-smooth scar tissue, the metallic taste stronger there. Ed sucked in a hard breath, body jerking as if electrocuted, all but bucking him off, but Roy held on, kissing his way down the extensive scarring until his lips found the edge of the metal plate literally bolted to Ed’s body. Ed was panting now, harsh, fast breaths, as Roy tried to put his mouth on as much of that too-smooth, strangely thin skin as he could through the small opening of Ed’s jacket.

“You,” Ed gasped, twisting under him again, his hand now on Roy’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “This is...” His words broke on a moan as Roy found a particularly good spot, uncaring of the fact his mouth was half full of Ed’s clothes.

Roy growled, irritated by the fact he could get so little access to the slightly metallic-tasting skin.

“Off,” Roy murmured, lifting his head from Ed’s shoulder and kissing him again, sharing the taste of metal and salt on his tongue. “Get this off,” he breathed, pushing at Ed’s coat and jacket, trying to get them off.

Ed broke off the kiss, twisting his head to the side, but Roy didn't let that stop him. He switched his attention to the exposed line of neck, dragging his teeth over the tendons, eliciting a shudder from Ed.

“It’s ugly,” Ed snarled, wild again, his flesh hand now around the back of Roy’s neck, squeezing hard, fingers digging in threateningly. “And _metal_ , what the fuck do you even want it for?”

Roy realized that Ed wasn't touching him with his automail hand. The metal limb was braced against the wall, kept well away from Roy even when Roy backed him against it in the first place.

“I want to touch you,” Roy said, his lips moving against Ed’s cheek, licking at the corner of Ed’s lips. “It’s part of you.” He pressed himself against Ed, letting the other man feel how hard he was already. “Show me.”

Ed made a sound, low and almost pained, tossing his head back hard enough the back of it hit the wall with a loud thump. “You are such a bastard,” he huffed, eyes closed.

“Is that a no?” Roy was almost dizzy at the heat between them, the intoxicating taste of Ed’s skin, his lips; his mind was full of the pleasure, full of want, of the sensation of a living body against his own. He dropped his hand to Ed’s metal shoulder, feeling the intricate pattern of plates under the thick material of his coat. He knew automail had sensation in it, but he didn't know how much. He'd never asked Ed, didn't want to bring attention to the obvious loss. And maybe some cowardly part of him didn't want to know if it hurt, when Ed transformed his arm into a blade.

Ed was looking at him, his gold eyes narrowed, something almost feral in his expression as he panted, his nostrils flaring with every harsh breath. Roy thought that he really had no idea what he was asking Ed to do. That maybe he should back off. But it was a good night and he was feeling wild, hungry. He _wanted_ \-- everything, anything, Ed in particular.

“Always fucking going for the weak spot,” Ed snarled and pushed Roy away. Roy felt an icy fist squeeze inside his chest as he stepped back. Rejection hurt, always, no matter how prepared he was for it.

But the moment there was some space between them, Ed shrugged out of his coat in jerky movements, letting it fall to the floor and then he shed his jacket, throwing it away sharply enough Roy was hit with the sleeve. “Satisfied now?” he snapped. HIs face was flushed, his usually unruly bangs even more all over the place than ever, his golden eyes narrowed and glaring. He was panting, his chest rising and falling sharply. Left only in the black tank top, the lack of sleeves vividly exposing the glaring contrast of the metal that replaced his right arm and shoulder, welded to his collarbone. The other arm was much more muscular than Roy expected, the shape of Ed’s body nearly that of an adult, and a powerful one at that.

“Not yet,” Roy managed through a throat dry with pure want. Yes, he'd watched Ed, he'd seen how attractive he was becoming as he matured, but now, flushed and strangely angry, his lips wet and slightly swollen, hair a mess, the automail exposed in a blatant challenge, he looked _glorious_.

Roy shrugged off his own jacket and shirt, suddenly too hot to stand them anymore, and lunged back at Ed, catching his head in both hands to kiss him. He licked deep and fast, taking advantage of the other man's surprise. He knew it wouldn’t last long, not with Ed’s quicksilver mind and insane levels of bravery. The sensation of Ed’s fingers in his hair, clenching tight enough to sting, pulling him closer, was a victory in itself.

He wasn’t exactly sure how they managed to stumble further into the room. He vaguely noticed knocking into something, the sound of glass shattering, and Ed’s words, mostly mumbled into Roy’s lips.

_I’ll get that later._

Ed’s hand was pulling at his shirttail, trying to drag it out of his pants and Roy didn't have enough brain cells to spare to worry about whatever it was they'd broken, and they managed to make it into the bedroom without breaking anything else. Roy wasn't quite sure how he lost his belt. His shirt was hanging open, most of the buttons ripped off as Ed lost patience with trying to undo them one handed and just ripped it apart. His shoes were also gone, somehow. He could feel the cool wood of the floor under his feet as he pushed Ed onto the firm mattress, scattering the pillows every which way. Ed was smaller than himself but much heavier - all that muscle and metal made for a satisfying sound when he hit the bed.

Roy didn't care about the belt, or the shoes, or the shirt -- he wouldn't have cared if Ed had transmuted his clothes into ribbons, because he had his mouth on that neck again, sucking angry red marks into the hollow of Ed’s throat, licking around the metal and skin alike.

Ed pulled Roy down with him as he fell backwards onto the bed, his calloused left hand worming its way under Roy’s shirt and touching him with the kind of hunger that burned in Roy’s own belly.

“Am I...Are you...Is this okay?” Roy asked again, not bothering to brace himself, letting himself press him down on Ed, feeling the incredible strength in Ed’s body as he took Roy’s weight without a murmur. He slipped the button of Ed’s pants open but didn’t try to get them off yet. He needed to know Ed felt what he was feeling, needed this to be good. He focused on licking his way down that scarred, powerful chest, lips and teeth snagging on a nipple and sucking it to hardness. He thrust lazily against Ed’s hip, relishing the heat coiling tighter and tighter in his groin.

“Yes,” Ed’s voice hitched and he arched into Roy's touch, still keeping his metal arm stubbornly away, though, the metal fingers curled tightly into the comforter.

Roy pushed his hand under Ed's clothes, inside the open pants and the underwear, relishing the wicked heat inside, until he found the man's straining erection and wrapped his hand around it. Ed made a choked, almost pained, sound and all but convulsed under him. Roy had his lips on Ed’s throat, tasting the sound, swallowing the vibration and doing his damnedest to leave another mark on the golden tanned skin.

“Fuck,” Ed breathed and finally, _finally_ there were two hands on Roy, the metal one fisting in the back of his shirt, mangling it beyond salvation most probably.

Between sound, taste and touch, Roy was past waiting, past any coherent thought. He stroked faster, wanting to push Ed closer to the edge as fast as possible. Ed keened, his legs spreading under Roy, the metal knee pressing hard at Roy to get him closer. Then there were hands at his own waistband, fighting with the button and then groping him through the suit when the zipper proved to be too difficult for metal fingers, huffing a breathless growl of annoyance the whole time.

“I want to put my mouth on you,” Ray said, desire thick in his throat. God, did he want it. Wanted to taste Ed, wanted to make him come, wanted to see what he could do to him.

Ed made a shuddering, desperate kind of sound that might have been a muffled curse, but Roy wasn’t listening too closely. He was mouthing at the scars again, rubbing his cheek over the metal plate that covered the entire right side of Ed’s chest. Some distant, logical part of his mind noted with horror that they must have cut out and replaced some of Ed’s ribs for this thing to stay in place the way it did.

He didn't want to think of the pain, the horror of what Ed had been through. He preferred not to think at all, in fact, just feel all of this, burning heat and salty sweat, soft skin under his lips, Ed's chest rising and falling in rapid pants, Ed's heartbeat pounding. He kissed his way lower, to the impossibly hard stomach, bit very gently at the ridges of the muscles. As he took hold of the edges of the open pants Ed made another sound, low in his throat, almost a growl and then arched under Roy, lifting his hips and Roy with them in a show of strength that sent another spike of heat down Roy’s spine. Taking advantage of the moment, he divested Ed of his pants and boots in one go, finally seeing him naked for the first time.

Ed’s head was turned away, tousled black hair covering most of his face and hiding his expression. Roy could see the powerful beat of his pulse in his throat and the flush making its way down his chest. Roy had seen the shoulder and how it anchored into Ed’s chest, had investigated the horrifying scars surrounding the connection with his lips and tongue. Now he saw the leg as well, the scarring there strangely even, artificial in a way that was more jarring than the jagged edges around the shoulder port. Not far above the knee the metal sleeve started; the automail joint, not even attempting to imitate a human knee, more like a streamlined armor, was an elegant thing. The Rockbells really made amazing prosthetics.

“Happy now?” Ed said, still not looking at Roy, something shaky and vulnerable in his voice under the superficial anger.

When he put his hand on Ed’s thigh, just above where the scarring started, he could feel a slight tremble. It couldn’t be easy to show himself like that to Roy, of all people.

“Yes,” he answered, feeling how rock-hard Ed’s thighs were under his hands. He dragged them up, towards his groin and the slightly flagging erection. Pale and thick, Ed was of a really respectable size and Ed inhaled deeply as he bent down. The scent, musky and sharp, intimate, made him dizzy and hungry, so hungry.

He didn't think, because it was best when he didn’t think. He wrapped his hand around Ed’s cock and licked.

Ed made a strangled sound, jerking and curling up over Roy, his hands flying to Roy’s shoulders instead, pulling him closer. Roy would have smirked at the fact that Ed wasn’t hiding his metal hand any more, using it to drag the two of them even closer, but he couldn’t right then. He was too busy trying to remember how gag reflexes worked and wondering if he still knew how to suppress it. He only choked a little when he pushed down, Ed’s cock forcing its way past the constriction of his throat and deeper, until Roy couldn't even breathe and Ed was just one long, keening line of tension curled up around Roy.

He didn’t let up, grabbing whatever half-breath he could but too hungry, too desperate for the sounds Ed was making to pause long enough to get a good break. He kept dragging himself up and back down, feeling Ed’s cock stretch his throat, feeling Ed's hands digging deep bruises into his shoulders. He was dizzy with Ed’s scent, his taste, the sensation. He held on when Ed squirmed and cried out wordless, desperate sounds, going as fast as he could, wanting Ed to come, wanting to feel him lose it.

It didn’t take long, between Ed’s youth and how ramped up he was, before he came, hips jerking harshly, choking Roy again as he spilled into his throat.

Roy waited him out, giving him something warm and tight to milk his violent orgasm until the dizziness turned into desperation and he had to pull back, letting the softening cock spill from his lips. Dizzy with lack of air, excitement, and probably the alcohol, Roy turned his head and rested it against Ed’s hip as Ed panted through the aftershocks, letting his own heartbeat calm down a little, trying not to think of how hard he himself was. His cock had been spilling precome for what seemed like a century, making a mess of his pants, Roy slid a little lower and kissed his way down that rock-hard thigh, to the soft scars of Ed’s automail port. He licked there, then sucked, wondering if he could leave marks on the scarred skin too. He liked the texture, felt strangely protective of how soft and fragile the skin there felt, catalogued the taste of metal on Ed’s skin again.

“God,” Ed said after a while of this, voice as wrecked as if he was the one that had just given his first blowjob in ten years. Roy smiled, pleased with himself, then yelped as an automail hand closed over his neck and pulled him up none too gently.

Then Ed was kissing him, sloppy and wet, licking deep and perfect. Roy let himself melt into it, let himself fall against Ed’s body. When he felt his cock connect with the hard belly, his hips jerked involuntarily, sensation sparking madly behind his eyes. He was so close, he just needed the tiniest bit more to come; a touch, a breath, anything.

Ed, goddamn genius that he was, caught on, his warm human hand sliding between them, wrapping somewhat clumsily around Roy. The lack of expertise didn't matter, it was touch, contact, and Roy moaned into the kiss. Ed’s fingers were calloused, dry and perfect as they gave Roy an experimental stroke. Roy broke the kiss, pushed his head into the crook of Ed’s shoulder, letting the scent there overwhelm him, letting it obscure everything but their bodies entwined on his bed.

“Show me,” Ed rasped, urgently, and Roy obeyed. He closed his hand around Ed’s, feeling the strength of it, the intimate sensation of Ed waiting for him. And then he showed him, how tight he liked it, how fast.

The first stroke was enough to make Roy’s eyes roll back, the second brought out a helpless keen and he was lost, overwhelmed, drowning in pleasure. Ed kept stroking him, kept muttering words Roy couldn’t understand. That was enough, too much really, and Roy gave up the battle, letting the pleasure take over. Heat uncoiled and spilled over, locking his muscles in shuddering waves as he spilled over Ed’s fingers. His mouth was full of the taste of Ed’s skin, his nose full of his scent, the sweat and life of him, for once free of the ever-present taste of ash.

Spent, he let himself curl around Ed, his face in the crook of Ed’s shoulder. He felt languid, body tingling with the gentle aftershocks of pleasure. He was fading quickly, alcohol and exhaustion hitting fast and hard. He pushed his nose into the warm skin, let the scent of sex buffer him from the world and fell asleep, the ghostly sensation of fingers in his hair accompanying him into slumber.

\---

Roy wasn’t expecting Maes, not this early, and not standing at his door.

“Hi Roy,” Maes said with a pleasant smile on his face, then he pulled his arm back and hit Roy straight on the jaw, the force of the blow sending him sprawling back, tripping over the small table and hitting the floor hard enough to bite his tongue.

Maes merely stepped into the corridor and quietly closed the door behind him.

“What the hell?” Roy growled, picking himself up and wiping away the blood on his chin with the back of his hand.

“An excellent question!” Maes said, that pleasant smile still on his lips. “Care to tell me what the hell is going on between you and your just barely legal _subordinate_?”

Ah.

Roy swallowed, tasting blood, wincing at the ache in his jaw and the sting from his bitten tongue. He watched Maes carefully. He wasn’t going to be surprised a second time, despite the handicap of a fairly decent hangover. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he hedged.

Maes lost the pleasant smile and snorted. “Please,” he said, circling Roy, not even pretending he wasn’t furious. “I have known you for how many years?” He waved a hand between them. “I know the look.”

“What look?” Roy was sure he hadn't betrayed himself, he never did, his mask all but welded in place by now. Some days he wondered if the reason it was so easy for him to hide what he felt was because he just didn’t feel anything anymore.

“The look they get,” Maes said, a sharp note to his voice. “The _I got fucked by Roy Mustang and I can’t decide if I love him or hate him for it_ look, the deer in the headlights look that your conquests all make when they see you again!” Maes went on, a nasty edge to his words. “And then yesterday, lo and behold, there was Edward Elric doing the dying doe eyes at you.” Maes paused, took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “And you noticed.” His eyes were sharp, boring into Roy. “You saw it and you _played right into it_.”

“I didn’t play into anything,” Roy mumbled, looking away from Maes, unable to completely deny the accusations.

“Oh but you did. The cigarette, the eyes, the smooth Colonel game. You pulled out all the stops. Hell, I didn't hear you call him a shrimp even once during the party.”

Roy turned away, showing his back to his friend and hoping he wouldn’t get a knife somewhere uncomfortable for this, and headed to the kitchen. He needed something to drink, something sober like coffee or water, something to chase away the hangover that was muddling up his brain. He needed time to think, to re-evaluate.

Because Maes was never wrong about people. The man had an uncanny ability to read people, and if he was saying that Roy had turned his seduction tactics onto Ed yesterday, then he must have done so. Only he didn’t remember -- didn’t remember choosing to do so, didn’t remember planning to do it. And if he _had_ done it, without meaning to...what else had he done?

“You haven’t gone for men since our academy days,” Maes continued, following Roy into the kitchen. “And even then your type wasn’t small, pretty, and blond. Quite the opposite, if Fredricks and Achikava were anything to go by.”

Roy paused in pouring his water, but only for a second. “You knew about that?” he asked, his voice carefully even.

“Well,” Maes sounded calmer now, more gentle. “Fredricks was business, or at least I thought so until Achikava. I did wonder why you stuck to women after the academy.”

Roy put the glass down before he dropped it. He curled his fingers into a fist to hide the shaking. “Less chance of finding them on the opposite side of the battlefield.”

Ron Achikava, tall and dark-haired, with rough hands, was a known supporter of the Ishvalans and vocally against the armed conflict that Fuhrer Bradley was pushing for. He was also one of the deserters who had left Amestris to join the Ishval forces when the fighting started.

Maes was quiet for a long moment. “You didn’t kill him,” he said finally.

Roy licked his lips. “But I would have. If I met him. If he was there…” Roy could smell the acrid scent of a city burning around him. “I would have and you know that.” Because sometimes, when you were in Hell, the only way out was through. And by God Roy was desperate to end the war, one way or another.

Maes was quiet for a long moment, watching Roy carefully. He'd known Roy long enough, was through Ishval himself, to know what Roy wasn’t saying. It was a hell they'd gone through, and both of them had lost parts of themselves in it.

“Then why, Ed?” Maes asked after a long pause. “And don’t try to bullshit me, I _know_ what I saw.”

“Doe eyes, huh?” Roy murmured, picking up the glass of water again and hiding his smirk behind it.

“Headlights. Death imminent. Panic. Confusion. _Hunger_ ,” Maes said. “Yeah, all of that.”

“I’m willing to pay good money to watch you tell him that,” Roy offered.

“I would die,” Maes said seriously. “Ed would go bonkers and kill me. He would of course be very sorry afterwards, but I would be dead.” Maes shook his head. “That boy is too damn dangerous to have a temper like he does.”

Roy stared into his glass of water and wondered what to do. If he tried hard enough, he could weasel his way out of this. He knew Maes, knew his weak spots; more importantly, he knew Maes trusted him. If Roy swore there wasn’t anything between him and Ed, Maes would believe him.

“I wouldn’t take advantage,” Roy said, looking up at Maes. “You know I’m not that kind of man, right?”

Maes shook his head. “You'd take every advantage you could, but not from somebody who couldn’t say no.”

Roy closed his eyes, the horrible weight that had settled on him when Maes punched him finally easing away. “Then why come at me fists swinging?” Roy rubbed at his aching jaw. The bruise was going to be spectacular.

“Ed is no child, no more than any of us were after Ishval, but he is impulsive and so obsessed with his quest to restore his brother he is blind to everything else.” Maes’ voice dropped again, becoming intense as he stared Roy down. “I was angry you would risk everything you worked for, we all worked for, for a tumble in the sheets. What possessed you to go for Ed of all people?!”

It hurt, sometimes, knowing that the hopes and dreams of so many people were riding on his shoulders. They'd all come back from that war wrong, damaged, and for some of them it was only the goal of changing Amestris that stopped them from eating a bullet. They couldn’t allow another war like that happen, they couldn’t allow another alchemist to become a weapon of mass destruction.

It was hard, though: hard to get up in the mornings some days, harder still to put away the bottle before he got drunk enough to pass out. It was even harder to look into the mirror and see anything other than mass graves filled with charred bodies.

“Kissel,” he said instead, closing his eyes. He could still remember the warm spark of alchemy, the way the potential unfolded in his chest when he activated the array on his gloves and the rush, the sickening, horrifying, beautiful rush when he snapped his fingers and the spark was created. Nobody could ever understand how it felt, in that moment between the spark coming to life and Roy sending it out on his chosen path through lines of modified air. It felt like holding a sun in his hands, so much endless potential, arrays and calculations, possibilities unfolding in his mind. And then the release, calculations so ingrained they were mostly unconscious by now, as he pushed the atoms around, stripping, adding, setting the world ablaze.

People tended to express awe at his range, at how far he could push the flames. What they didn’t realize (and Roy wouldn't tell them) was that the range was the easy part. Once he put his mind to it, he adjusted the process that the flames themselves perpetuated the changes to the atmosphere. In theory, the flames would be self-sustaining until outside factors destabilized the reaction. It was keeping the reaction localized that was the challenge, the real crowning glory of his achievement. Modifying the humidity to force the air movement he wanted, to maintain a constant supply of air, to use the air pressure to push the heat away from him or toward his chosen targets - _that_ was the hard part. He could set an entire field on fire and still be sure his people stayed untouched by the flames.

Maes was watching him closely. “I saw the bodies,” he said carefully. “I thought they looked like...”

 _Something you would do_ , Maes didn't say, but Roy heard anyway. It didn’t matter how tight his chest felt. He had done it. He'd killed those people. Maes had a good eye.

“Fullmetal cleaned up the scene,” Roy said instead, thinking of the pictures he'd found in that mansion, of the tunnels.

Maes opened his mouth, then closed it. He took his glasses off and cleaned them against the lapel of his coat. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

Roy shook his head.

“So, Ed,” Maes said, the twist to his lips suggesting he absolutely did not understand the choice.

Roy shrugged, not sure how to explain how desperate he was for something human then, how fragile the thread securing his sanity was when the scent of burning bodies was thick in his nose.

“Since you didn’t come back black and blue, Ed must have been on board with whatever happened. He's never been shy about shouting his grievances for everyone to hear where you are concerned.”

Roy thought guiltily of what had happened in his flat just hours before, but he kept quiet. How could he explain to Maes things he could barely understand himself?

\---

Human lives.

That was what the Philosopher’s Stone was made of.

_Human lives._

Ed couldn’t even tell what he was feeling outside of the utter horror and the queasy sickness at the fact that some small, terrified part of him still _wanted_ the stone.

There were a million and one excuses running through his head. What if he wasn’t the one to make the stone? What if he just found an already existing one? What if, what if, what if… but each and every excuse only brought a stronger taste of bile to his mouth. His nose and cheeks grew numb with cold as he walked through the city for hours on end, head spinning with denial and possibilities and recrimination.

Alchemy was supposed to a good thing, a gift, something that was supposed to help people, not _use them up_ like an energy source.

He didn’t notice when the sun went down, nor when he reached the poorer part of the city, filled with people who had immigrated from the destroyed areas like Liore or Ishval, or from the borderlands with Aerugo and Creta. With so many ongoing conflicts there was a steady stream of destitute people fleeing for their lives after one military or another destroyed their homes.

It was not a place for a lone soldier to be, much less an alchemist. Ed knew that, and maybe he would have paid more attention to his surroundings if he hadn't been so deep inside his own head.

When he realized he was surrounded by five big and somewhat drunk men spoiling for a fight, white hair and red eyes marking them as Ishvalan, Ed realized he was in trouble. He had no trouble fighting -- what with the ants crawling under his skin and the maelstrom of thoughts in his head, he would have welcomed the fight anyway. He might be smaller than they, but he could take them down even without his alchemy.

But they were Ishvalan. What Amestris had done to them was pure cruelty. The civil war was just an excuse for genocide, largery perpetuated by the State Alchemists, and these men had a right to their hatred.

Ed understood, he truly did. But he also had a brother who was relying on him to return his body. Ed had a responsibility. Besides, Ed hadn't been the one to commit the murders. He gave them a choice to back off, unwilling to fight them, but when they didn’t he did what he had to.

He didn’t transmute the arm into a blade, repulsed at the thought of using any sort of lethal force against them. He did his best to not hit with his automail arm, either. It cost him more hits that he would usually take from unskilled opponents, but he knocked the first two out fast enough, though it left his knuckles bleeding and aching. The remaining opponents went down fast, the fighting spirit having left them at seeing their comrades already unconscious. All Ed wanted was to stop them, enforce some distance, hoping sanity would come back to them.

He forgot, for a moment, that he was in a big city, not a rural area. When he kicked his last opponent away, the man stumbled out of the alley onto the street, with its oncoming traffic.

What happened next was too fast, too ordinary for his mind to parse immediately: the flash of headlights, the deafening screech of tires, the sound of metal being twisted out of alignment.

He was clapping his hands, powering up a hundred arrays at once as he ran out to the street. One car was crumpled against a utility pole that held up the mess of power lines connecting to the various buildings.

The second car had crashed into the back of the first one. The passenger door was open, a man in a pale coat just now falling out of it, blood pouring out around the hands he held to his face. There was smoke everywhere, the first car sparking dangerously even as the pole it had crashed into began tilting slowly, dragging the mess of power lines down with it. The man Ed had been fighting lay crumpled at the side of the road. Beside him a woman was kneeling on the sidewalk, hugging the small limp body of a child to her and screaming.

Ed skidded to a stop in the middle of the street, falling to his knees with enough force to feel it all the way to his teeth, hands flat on the ground. He pushed the reaction out so fast it felt like something in his chest jarred loose with a wet snap. The pole first, before it fell and killed everybody below with the electricity already sparking dangerously at the overstressed connections. He skimmed wood from the circumference of the pole, thankful wood was predisposed to growing in non-straight lines. He pushed, until he managed to alter its shape enough to hold the weight of the tilted lines. Then deconstruction, reconstruction in a rapid circle, pushing half a millimeter at a time until the pole was straight. Another array, nearly on top of the first one, pushing it harder still because he had no time, and he was pulling metal from the car that had crashed into the pole, wrapping a thick band of it around the top of the pole and securing it to the brickwork of the building beside it.

Before the reaction even finished Ed was laying out another array, ignoring the twinging in his chest, the potential surging and almost turning on him. Too much, too fast. He gritted his teeth and laid out yet another, going for both cars at once, reading the composition and the temperatures, pulling flammable components away from the heat, stuffing a layer of rubber sandwiched with metal on both sides, hoping it would stop the flames from spreading. Another array, while holding the previous three still in effect, pain ramping up as he forced it to activate. Metal, unlike wood, had something that could almost be called a memory shape. If he loosened the atomic bindings to just the right extent they would rearrange themselves for him, all he needed was to keep the binding loose but not broken, give it mobility while not threatening its structural integrity. He needed to give the people inside the first car more space, to pull them out. He didn’t know if they were even alive, the woman on the sidewalk was still screaming and Ed couldn't even see if the child was _moving_.

By the time he was done securing the scene, peeling back the crushed metal and making sure the glass scattered everywhere wouldn't be a problem, police cars had begun to arrive, closely followed by an ambulance.

When an older policeman with a thick mustache pushed him to the ground he didn’t resist, the pain still rattling in his chest, barely aware of the cuffs locking around his wrists. He couldn't see the woman with the child any more, his view blocked by people loading the wounded onto gurneys, his attention distracted by flashing lights.

“Fucking State Alchemists,” the man was muttering as he hauled Ed up. “You think you can just wander around, destroying people and things however you want and assuming the goddamn watch will get you out of being responsible for what you did.” He shoved Ed into the back of a police car, the cuffs painfully tight on his flesh wrist.

In the end, Ed wasn’t arrested, his status as a State Alchemist protecting him, but neither was he let go. The police captain was dead set on charging him with five counts of attempted murder; he wouldn’t even answer any of Ed’s questions about the wounded.

In the end, Ed had to admit he was out of his depth, exhausted and suddenly horribly, viscerally terrified of what would happen to Al if he was gone. Who would take care of him, what would happen to his body, his soul?

He felt weak and pathetic, defeated in some undefinable way, as he sat in the station's waiting room, waiting for hours for Mustang to show up, the shame of asking for help, the shame of causing such chaos choking him the whole time.

It was dawn when the door to the precinct opened to admit Mustang, looking as Ed hadn't seen him in a long while. In full uniform, trademark white gloves on his hands, the red array embroidered on them shockingly prominent, he walked into the room with the kind of slow confidence that always set Ed’s teeth on edge. His black eyes were placid and unreadable, hair pushed back from his face in a controlled, sophisticated way that conveyed the impression that the man was more of a movie star than a soldier. His coat, the same deep blue as his crisp uniform, was thrown over his shoulders, flaring behind him as he walked. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the tired, overworked cops at the desk, then alighting on Ed. His expression did not change as his eyes flicked over Ed’s form, snagging briefly on his hand, knuckles bruised and scabbed over.

Ed felt flayed open when Mustang’s eyes slid away, giving no hint of what he was thinking.

“Do you require a doctor, Fullmetal?” Mustang asked almost idly, his eyes making another circuit of the room before they came back to Ed. His eyes held the placid blankness of a stranger and Ed felt _sick_.

“I’m fine,” Ed managed through a dry throat. He had no idea what his face showed in that moment, but it couldn’t be anything good. Mustang gave no indication as to what he thought of Ed or of the whole situation. He just nodded, a tiny, nearly absent-minded movement. Then he turned towards the open door to the office where the captain was sitting, staring daggers at him.

“Captain Helifax, I presume?” Mustang’s voice was low and smooth, his eyes half-lidded as they regarded the older man with those utterly unreadable eyes.

“Another State Alchemist,” the man said with a disgusted curl of his lips. “Come to cover for one of your own, haven’t you?”

Roy tilted his head in another gesture Ed couldn't read, body language so utterly neutral as to be unnatural. “I came to negotiate,” he said slowly, politely, his tone devoid of any emotion.

“The only thing that’s up for debate is if I’m charging Elric with multiple counts of attempted murder or manslaughter,” the captain said, his voice tight with anger.

“I think,” Mustang said slowly, softly, and Ed felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up suddenly, “that you will want to reconsider.”

Mustang held his hand out to the side and Maes, who had apparently entered the room without Ed even noticing, opened the leather case he was carrying. He pulled out a thin manila folder and handed it to Roy wordlessly, not even a glance exchanged between them. Maes was smiling politely, his face a mask of false congeniality.

“Take Elric home,” Mustang said in that same soft tone as he walked up to the Captain.

“Wait a minute,” the Captain said, rising from his desk and making for Ed as if he thought Ed was going to try to run. But he never reached Ed. When he was level with Mustang, the Colonel extended the file towards the Captain.

“Open it,” Mustang murmured, so quietly Ed only heard it because he was so close.

The Captain snarled but reached for the folder, opening it with one sharp movement. He gave it a cursory skim, then his eyes caught on something and he froze, his tanned face rapidly losing its color.

Mustang walked casually up to the captain's desk and sat down in the chair opposite it, crossing his legs and slowly pulling his gloves off one finger at a time, eyes focused only on the task at hand, face nothing more than a porcelain mask.

“Come on, Ed.” Maes caught hold of Ed’s arm and tugged him to his feet. “I will drive you back to your dorm. Al is worried.”

Ed resisted, his attention still on the Captain, who was frozen solid as he read whatever was in the file, and on Mustang, sitting patiently in that cheap chair, waiting. “I haven't been released yet,” he protested weakly.

Maes’ grip was harder on his arm now. “You will be,” he said pulling harder. “This was a done deal once Roy decided to get involved.”

Ed stumbled to his feet but turned to look back at the police captain. “What is Mustang doing?” he couldn’t help but ask, fascinated by the sick pallor of the old policeman’s face.

“Applying leverage,” Maes said shortly, dragging Ed out of the precinct and pushing him into one of the two cars idling at the curb. Ed caught a glimpse of Havoc in the other car.

“What was in that file?” Ed asked as they pulled away from the station.

Maes snorted. “Don’t worry about it, Roy will make everything go away. As he always does.”

Something about the words struck a chord with Ed. “Wait, what do you mean _always does_?”

Maes drove in silence for a while, then finally with a sigh he said, “Haven’t you ever wondered why there's never any fallout from your missions? No personal consequences for you? Nobody cries for remuneration, nobody hounds you for the damage you did. There are no interrogations, no hearings, no official reprimands. No witnesses to Alphonse not having a body inside that suit, nobody wondering about the questions you ask. Nothing. Always nothing.”

Ed opened his mouth to say that well, people liked them, but then he closed it without saying a word. Some people did, sure, but not everyone everywhere. It was statistically impossible that no-one had ever cried foul to the military after a mission, even if he did solve the problem every time.

Maes nodded silently at Ed's realization, eyes fixed on the road. “When Roy says he does cleanup after your mission, he _means_ it, Ed. Not a soul on earth will breathe a word to the military about your brother, your quest to find the Philosopher’s Stone, or any of the other secrets you think you've been keeping from him.”

“What does he…” Ed trailed off, feeling the vague sickness raise up in his stomach again.

“You roll into a town, a city, a village, and my team and I immediately start compiling dossiers. If we are lucky, there are people with things to hide, weak spots to press. If not, well...” Maes shrugged.

Ed licked his suddenly dry lips, blood roaring in his ears. Stupid, so stupid, so _fucking blind and stupid_. So many things he'd never thought about, never stopped long enough to even consider.

“I’m _Intelligence_ ,” Maes finished, his voice oddly hollow. “There are always pressure points.”

“You blackmail people,” Ed said faintly, too shocked to even feel anger. The phrase _‘applying leverage’_ kept ringing in his ears.

“I wouldn't say that,” Maes shrugged again. “Roy tries to be gentle and he does tend to favor positive reinforcement." Maes turned the car, and Ed recognized the street where the dorms were. “But Roy is at his most dangerous when protecting his people.” The car rolled to a stop. “Remember that next time you decide that blowing up half a town is a good idea.”

Ed stepped out of the car in a daze and watched Maes drive away ashis mind replayed the scene he'd just witnessed, seeing again how cold Mustang was when he handed the folder over, how patiently he waited for the captain to come back to the desk, so sure of his victory.

Ed stood there watching the street with blind eyes for a very long time, people jostling him and complaining as they went about their business around him.

He didn’t want this.

He'd never wanted any of this.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy downed the glass of whisky as if it were water, the burn of the alcohol barely noticeable over the tightness of his throat, the vicious ache living deep in his chest since they'd found Maes dead.

He kept himself cool and collected, his face a mask as they investigated, as they buried his closest friend, as he made sure Maes's wife and daughter were safe, at least for now. He froze his emotions, he embraced the pain and made it his every breath, built it into his bones, wired it into every muscle, and he got up every day to deal with the end of his world.

Roy was a dark person by nature; he had a tendency to let himself get sucked into things and then dwell on his choices, unable to let things go, creating his own hell with no doors to escape it. Maes was a different creature altogether; he saw the whole world as open to him, a surprising optimism for someone working in Intelligence. He shoved and pulled until he dragged Roy out of his darkest slumps. He was the reason why Roy didn’t choose to eat his own gun after Ishval.

Now he was gone, because he'd followed Roy down a dangerous road again, selflessly risking his life to do the right thing. Roy downed his glass, his hand shaking badly as he poured another, the bottle more than half empty already. He felt dizzy and sick, his eyes focused on the coffee table and his gun resting there. He didn’t remember pulling it out of the holster, but now that it was in sight he couldn’t stop staring at it.

Maes was not there to stop him, Maes was in the cold, wet ground, rotting away while Roy was here, alive and well, responsible for yet another death. Roy always disappointed, he thought, always failed his people. He betrayed Riza when he took the knowledge she offered and twisted it. He set Maes on the path that ultimately led to his death. If he hadn’t gotten Maes involved, if he had just let him be, Maes would be home with his daughter, taking an obsessive number of pictures.

His eyes were wet as he thought of Alicia at the funeral, asking where her Daddy was, screaming for him, unable yet to understand that Maes would never come home. He thought back to the days after Ishval, when Maes would drag him to his guest room, when Garcia would guilt him into eating the home-cooked meals, when step by step they pulled him out of the black pit of depression into which he'd fallen. He owed Maes his life a thousand times over, and all he'd done in return was to give him a cold and lonely death, far away from everybody he knew.

Roy closed his eyes, pain like magma filling his lungs, at the memory of the picture of Maes's family, found bloodied and dirty beside his friend's body.

Roy wiped angrily at his eyes, the salt of his tears stinging his skin, and reached for the bottle again.

The knock at the door was unexpected, especially after he'd sent Riza away with words he would definitely regret in the morning. He decided to ignore whoever it was, opting for more alcohol instead. He was already fairly buzzed, but he wanted to be totally drunk, blackout drunk, wanted to obliterate the sickening, roiling mass of pain from his body, numb his brain for just a moment because otherwise he was going to snap, lose control and explode, blow up himself or maybe the whole world. He was afraid of what he felt, of the powerful, overwhelming need to make the world see what it had lost, experience the pain he was suffering, otherwise he would drown, destroyed under the weight.

The knock turned into a vigorous banging and still Roy didn’t move, forcing himself to swallow the whiskey. He hated it but drank anyway, welcoming the burn and the numbness it brought.

Then he felt a shiver of energy, a sensation not unlike a mild shock. Alchemy. Somebody was transmuting nearby. He had just reached for his gloves when blue sparks danced over the surface of his door and then there was no longer a handle but a flat disk, and the door swung open.

He knew instantly who it was. Only one person he'd ever met could use alchemy that effortlessly. Only Edward Elric could invent arrays on the spot with such ease that it looked like the most natural thing in the world.

Ed stomped in, his red coat flaring behind him. The black clothes created a stunning contrast to the bright coat and golden hair. His braid hung over his shoulder, messy bangs in his eyes as he mumbled something (probably very uncomplimentary) about Roy under his breath. He stepped into the corridor, then turned back to clap again and fix the doo.

He looked irritated and tired, Roy thought. The alcohol seared his throat as he downed another shot, wishing his tolerance wasn’t so high.

Ed’s eyes, golden and fierce, scanned the mess of Roy’s living room, the shattered glass along one wall, the damning dark marks on the wall and dents in the plaster. Roy watched as his eyes took in the overturned table, the shattered vase that he'd fixed once before, the framed pictures face down on the chest of drawers. Then, finally, Ed looked at Roy, and Roy wondered what he saw. He was wearing yesterday’s clothes, his shirt wrinkled and stained with rusty smears. He was barefoot, heedless of the broken glass littering the floor, and there were empty bottles scattered all over the room. His right hand ached, the knuckles swollen and scraped.

“Ed,” he said eventually, hesitantly.

“You look like shit,” Ed said in lieu of greeting. He moved deeper into the room, his boots crunching on glass.

Roy tilted his head, taking a guilty pleasure in watching him. There was a kind of animal grace to his movements. “You weren't invited,” he said abruptly, draining his glass again and relishing the way everything was finally going a little bit hazy at the edges. Everything but Ed, bright and colorful, where only shadows were before.

Ed shrugged, coming closer and picking up the bottle. He gave a sniff and his face twisted in a grimace of disgust. “This stuff stinks,” he informed Roy. When he set it down it was out of Roy’s reach, and Roy had no doubt the action was deliberate.

Ed sat down on the coffee table, facing him. Roy couldn't help but notice the way his leather pants clung to his thighs as he crossed his legs. He was wearing his customary white gloves, their brightness striking against all that black. He watched Roy impassively, eyes golden and sharp, emotions flickering too fast for Roy to decipher, at least not when he was this drunk.

“What are you doing here?” Roy asked tiredly, setting the empty glass on the table.

“I don’t think you should be alone,” Ed said, his eyes on his own hands, fingers restless against his legs.

Roy was reminded suddenly of how those hands felt clenching in his hair, how Ed’s breath felt fanning his face. He swallowed. “You should go,” he said, reaching for the glass again before remembering it was empty.

“You should talk, or something,” Ed said in response, his eyes slipping away from Roy to roam the room again.

Roy couldn't help the nasty laugh that escaped him. “Oh, you mean like you do?” He looked at Ed from under his eyelashes suddenly, fiercely, wanting to hurt, to lash out and _cause damage_.

“I talk,” Ed shot back immediately, thoughtlessly. For all of his brilliance, Ed was sometimes all too easy to trap.

“Do you?” Roy purred, making his voice drop. He met Ed’s eyes, their fierce gold bringing back memories of moments Roy tried so hard not to think about. “Why are the scars on your leg are different from the ones on your chest near the automail ports?” he said, forcing a drawl into his voice. He watched, a sick sense of satisfaction unfurling in his chest as Ed’s eyes widened in shock at the intimate question.

They'd never talked about what had happened between them. They never so much as mentioned the fact they'd had sex. Then again, they'd only did it when Roy was drunk, and today he was _definitely_ drunk, possibly even completely smashed. The scars were a sensitive topic, the automail itself a thing Ed rarely discussed. Roy remembered how hard Ed had worked not to touch Roy with it when they were having sex. He'd only done it when at last he forgot himself. Roy remembered the way Ed looked when Roy had seen him naked for the very first time, tense and flushed, embarrassed and so very vulnerable. He knew the scars were different because he'd had his mouth all over them, and he knew Ed would make that connection.

Ed’s eyes widened, shock and something like betrayal lighting up in them. Roy felt the sick, burning sensation in his chest, victory and shame so entwined they became one thing.

But Ed knew how to take a hit and get up again.

“When the gate took my limbs, it cut off the arm halfway above the elbow.” Ed pointed to just below what would have been his biceps. His eyes were on Roy, staring him down, not backing down an inch. “When Granny attached the first port, I got an infection. It was bad enough they had to remove the port and cut off the dying tissues. They had to cut off the rest of the stump.” Suddenly Roy regretted asking. Ed had been just a little kid then, he couldn’t imagine the pain the automail surgery had caused him. “But that didn't stop the infection. The tissues kept dying and my fever kept rising. They had to operate again. This time they removed the whole joint,” he tapped the metal shoulder, his eyes never leaving Roy, leaning towards him, keeping Roy pinned by the sheer power of his will. “That stopped the infection, but they had to attach the port to something, so they operated again.” Roy wanted him to stop talking but Ed wasn’t going to, he could see that. Roy had asked, Roy had broken the unspoken rule and by God Ed was going to make him pay. “Without the stump or the joint, they basically had to rebuild a quarter of my chest and then attach the tech _somewhere_.” Ed pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the metal plate and the bolts securing it to his ribs and sternum. “They had to remove my right shoulder blade too, because the bone wasn’t strong enough to hold the metal.”

“Ed,” Roy began, something like pity, like horror coiling thickly in his stomach.

“It didn’t matter, you know,” Ed’s voice softened, his body losing its tension. His knees were very close to Roy's and Roy couldn't help but want to touch them. “Because my body is just a tool, a means to an end. I couldn’t restore Al’s body if I was stuck in a bed.” He shrugged. “So, I told them to cut out whatever they had to, to make me functional.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said, horror and guilt choking him. He would forever regret seeing the bleak determination in Ed’s eyes as he talked. Ed’s guilt was probably as great as Roy’s, and it was ironic, in a strange and devastating way, that it was their crimes that brought them closest together.

“I don’t know what it is you see in me that makes you want to fuck me,” Ed said bluntly, “but people _don’t_.”

“Don’t what?” Roy shifted his hand, letting it drop onto the sharp angle of Ed's nearest knee, feeling the surprisingly fragile jut of bone beneath the shiny black leathers.

“Want me, once they see all this.” Ed pulled off his gloves, the metal fingers -- a veritable work of art in their dexterity -- gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then he clapped his hands and touched the table he was sitting on. Roy felt the shiver of energy, the zing of Ed’s power, before it sank into the table transforming it from glossy black metal into a charcoal grey stone, heavier, with screaming gargoyles decorating the corners. “They want what I can do,” he said, looking at Roy with eyes suddenly softer, more confused than ever. “They don’t want _me_.”

It was the power, Roy knew. Ed was an endless font of energy, effortlessly performing alchemical transmutations that would not just exhaust but straight up kill other people and it was _nothing_ to him. His small, compact body held so much power it made Roy dizzy sometimes just thinking of it.

But that wasn’t what made him attractive to Roy. His body, with or without the metal prosthetics, was a work of art and his scars just a testimony of his strength. What attracted Roy the most were the dark shadows hiding deep in Ed’s soul, the potential for danger forever kept in check by his sense of ethics, of honor.

He raised his hand from the knee he was holding, up, over the butter-soft leather, feeling the rock-like hardness of Ed’s thigh under his fingers.

“Most people are afraid of playing with fire,” he said, resting his other hand on Ed’s other leg. He wanted to feel Ed’s power now. Not his alchemy, but his life force, the power of his muscles, the scarred skin and the way he reacted to Roy's touch.

Ed watched him with darkening eyes. “But you like the fire,” he said slowly and Roy smiled, a bitter, horrid smile. That was the problem, wasn't it? Roy hated and loved the fire in equal measure.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, because it was true, and because he was drunk and miserable. He didn’t know if he wanted to scare Ed away or pull him closer. He didn’t try to lessen the impact of his words, didn't try to backtrack. Some part of him, the small and sane kernel that wasn't yet buried under the misery, screamed at him to tell Ed to go, tell him to get up and leave before Roy fucked him up even more than Ed had already fucked himself up. But that was a very small part; the rest was dry kindling waiting for the spark that would burn everything down.

“I want your mouth on me,” he said, the words leaving his mouth unbidden. He'd been raised in a brothel, he had no qualms talking about sex though he tried to restrict himself to the level of explicitness his partner preferred. “And I like the automail,” he added almost thoughtfully. Distantly, he could feel Ed’s muscles tensing and relaxing under his touch, the heat radiating from him.

Ed bit his lip, his eyes leaving Roy’s for the first time. He shifted his gaze to the whiskey bottle, a thoughtful frown between his eyebrows. “No more booze today,” he said, something odd in his voice.

Roy nodded. “It’s just a distraction,” he shrugged, letting his hands slide higher up Ed’s thighs, feeling the shape of them, the way the left one was harder, muscles too tight, probably because of the automail. Maes -- god, Maes would hate what Roy was doing, but Maes wasn't there, wouldn’t ever be there again, and Roy was alone with his demons now. “Something to stop me from thinking.”

Ed nodded as if that made perfect sense. Maybe it did. Ed had his own demons and unlike Roy’s which only came in the quiet of the night, his walked beside him every day.

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “Okay.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a little packet with the word "Automail" on it, and put it on the table. Then he clapped and touched the packet, the transmutation fast and light. Roy could feel the matter changing but couldn't tell what exactly had happened.

Then Ed was shrugging out of his coat, tossing it away carelessly. He cast one more look at Roy, too fast for Roy to read him, and then Ed was sliding onto his knees between Roy’s legs, hands pushing Roy’s knees apart.

It didn’t matter what other thoughts Roy had, every single one flew out of his head at the sight of Ed kneeling on the floor in front of him, head bowed as he reached for Roy’s belt. Roy was frozen for a long moment, eyes fixed on the spill of golden braid over Ed’s shoulder and the feel of Ed’s firm chest as he nudged his way closer.

It didn’t take long for Ed to finish with Roy’s pants, and then he was pulling them down to get his flesh hand around Roy. He hissed, the touch shockingly good, heat sparking through him immediately. The first touch of Ed’s lips was like lightning, his chest seizing up as he hardened painfully fast. Ed’s automail hand was on Roy’s left leg, pushing it aside, making room for himself. He might not have much experience, but he didn’t seem to know the meaning of fear and that made all the difference.

Roy felt himself in Ed’s touches, the familiar firmness and rhythm, and that only stroked the pleasure higher. A fierce possessiveness curled low in his belly, sending his breathing haywire.

He had his hands in the bright golden hair almost without conscious thought, pulling the braid apart and just digging his fingers in. He could feel how thick and smooth it was, how hot Ed’s scalp was under his fingertips. Ed’s mouth was hot too, his tongue mobile and curious, swirling around the head of Roy’s cock.

He was dizzy, drunk from it. From the image of Ed curled around his waist, from the feel of his body between Roy’s legs.

He tugged at the black jacket, hungry for skin, wanting to touch more, to feel, have, _possess_. He found the clasp at Ed’s throat and yanked it, eyesight going blurry with how fucking good Ed’s mouth felt.

Ed growled, pulling away. His lips were red and a little swollen, wet as he licked them absently, looking up at Roy as if he was interrupting.

“Take it off,” Roy yanked at the jacket again, so hungry for Ed’s body it _hurt_.

Ed scowled and pulled the jacket off in a few angry movements, throwing it away carelessly. Roy licked his lips at the revealed skin, the way the tank top showed off the curve of Ed’s human shoulder and the gleaming metal of the other. He slid one of his hands out of Ed’s hair and dragged his fingers over the criss-cross scarring around the chestplate. Ed’s breathing hitched, his moist breath fanning over Roy’s cock before he leaned down again, taking as much of Roy as he could.

Roy lost himself in it for a long moment, just touching, feeling the blowjob that was getting better with every passing moment. He brushed his fingers across the sharp definition of Ed’s muscles on his flesh arm, followed it down to where the hand was wrapped around his cock, to the wet lips mouthing along his length, into the hot, thick hair and realized he was going to lose it if they didn't stop. He tightened his fingers in the open mass of golden hair, the other hand wrapping around Ed's shoulder, and pulled. “Come up here,” he rasped, feeling the words drag out of his throat.

Ed made a breathy sound of protest when Roy kept pulling, forcing him to straighten up, forcing him to meet him halfway. Then Roy bent over and kissed him, licking into those wet, plush lips, chasing his own taste in the other man's mouth.

Ed moaned, opening up, letting Roy go as deep as he wanted, kissing back, stretching up on his knees to hold him tighter. This was good, this was enough breathing room to let him regain a shred of control. Roy kept kissing as he reached for Ed's pants, working them open even as he bit mercilessly at his lips. Ed made a hungry, breathy sound and let go of Roy’s shoulders to reach down and help him with the pants. Together they managed to push the leather halfway down his thighs.

The moment Roy got his hands onto Ed’s hips, feeling the smooth, vulnerable skin under his touch, Ed moaned and broke the kiss. He buried his face in Roy’s shoulder, his chest heaving, then squirmed up, trying to rid himself of the pants and boots without taking his hands off Roy. Roy didn't help, not really. He mouthed Ed’s neck, wanting to leave new, darker marks, bit at the beautiful arch of Ed’s shoulder and then soothed the bites with his tongue as he urged Ed onto the armchair with him. It took a bit of a struggle but Ed finally got out of his boots and pants and then he was crawling onto Roy’s lap, his knees slotting neatly between Roy and the armrests.

Roy let his hands rest on those knees first, flesh and metal, both so perfectly constructed, then dragged them higher, feeling the hardness of muscles under the thin layer of skin. Then the hips, surprisingly tiny for his frame. Ed gasped when Roy slid his hands around to cup Ed’s ass and squeezed, pulling Ed closer.

Then Ed was leaning sideways, reaching for the little packet and pushing it at Roy’s chest, cheeks flushed a lovely pink, and that golden hair everywhere.

Roy ripped the waxy paper open and his hand was immediately drenched in clear, slick lube.

“I have a million of those,” Ed said, voice raspy. “For the automail.”

Roy didn’t answer, just leaned in to mouth at the place where the chest plate connected to Ed’s flesh. He'd lost one nipple to it and Roy would have mourned the loss more if not for the way Ed shuddered under his touch, his arms immediately latching onto Roy’s shoulders, holding on hard enough to bruise.

He didn't wait, didn't really think, just reached between Ed’s legs to spread the lube there. He liked this, having Ed messy and slick. He ran his fingers between Ed's cheeks, dragging them over the little pucker of his hole, down to the perineum, pressing there too just to hear the hitched breath and feel how Ed held on tighter, pressed himself closer. When he started to push his fingers inside Ed made a little choked sound, shifted and then pushed back, welcoming the invading fingers. Roy could smell the sweat on his skin, could feel the tremble of his thighs as he held himself up. He could taste the salt of his sweat as he moved his lips across the skin of Ed’s neck, finding the prominent adam’s apple and sucking there hard enough to leave a bruise.

Ed didn't say a word when Roy slicked himself up. He shivered and pressed his face against Roy’s neck, breath fanning hot and moist against his skin.

“Take me in,” Roy whispered as he took hold of Ed’s hips.

Ed said nothing, his arms clenching tighter around Roy’s neck. Roy kissed his ear, licking at the hot, salty skin underneath and pushed Ed down to sink slowly onto his cock. The younger man tensed, a hiss leaving his lips as he leaned his head onto Roy’s shoulder and let himself take Roy’s cock in.

It was tight, so viciously tight he was half convinced it would kill Roy, surely nobody could survive something like this. Ed felt like a furnace inside, his body accepting Roy at a level that he had no words to explain. They both panted when Ed was all the way down, his arms wrapped around Roy’s neck, his left hand in Roy's hair, pulling him closer.

When Roy gripped his hips to get him to move, to shift up again, Ed shuddered out a half-sob against the skin of Roy’s neck but he followed the unspoken instruction, his thighs trembling and shivering as he rose up, the vise-like grip on Roy’s cock receding.

They were both trembling, Roy’s heart beating at a rhythm that was surely closer to a heart attack than anything else, his blood pounding in his ears as he got enough leverage to thrust up and Ed _shouted_ into his skin.

Feeling one step away from his own orgasm, Roy managed to worm his hand between their bodies and wrap it around Ed’s cock. It was another thrill, a shock to his system, to feel the wet hardness of it dragging against his belly, smearing precome everywhere.

He held on tight, stroking as fast as his limited coordination allowed. Ed was shivering and clinging, and Roy wasn't even aware it was a thing that _could_ happen. That Ed could be this shattered, this vulnerable, making incoherent, desperate sounds against his neck, hair sweaty and disheveled, strands of it everywhere, clinging to Roy’s skin, to Ed’s sweaty back. Roy could see his muscles working as he moved, could feel the mind-bending sensation of sinking into the unbelievable tightness of his body.

But it was Ed's arms, the way he wouldn’t let go of Roy for a second, that Roy would remember best, later. The moment when there was no past, no future, only the two of them, the demons silenced for once.

When Ed came, another half-choked moanscream muffled into Roy’s shoulder, his body locked down on Roy so hard there was no other choice but to follow him, pleasure overflowing and spilling, blinding him and narrowing his world to waves of feeling. Ed was heavy and panting on top of him, the air thick with the scent of sex and the darkness softer than it had been for days. Roy felt himself drifting off and didn’t fight it.

He woke to a shiver of unease, looking around for his gloves, until he realized he was in his bed and that what had woken him was the feeling of somebody doing alchemy somewhere close.

His head ached, and he felt fuzzy in a way that suggested he was somewhere between drunk and hungover, his body heavy with the familiar lack of sleep.

He rolled out of bed, noticing he was naked but not caring much. He padded out of his bedroom and down the small corridor to the sitting room, where he leaned against the doorway and watched Ed. Dressed in his black leathers, he was, well, _cleaning_.

Roy watched him clap and crouch down to lay his hands against the shattered vase. His hair, still loose and messy, flying every which way, looked like a golden wave against his pale skin. The blue of alchemic reaction lit up the room and the shards reassembled themselves into a whole again. In the ghostly glow, Roy could see the vivid marks he'd left on Ed’s neck, like wounds along his throat and shoulder.

Ed didn’t notice him at first, just continued performing small acts of impossible alchemy almost as an afterthought. Roy watched as dented wall straightened out, the dark stains falling away like dust. He watched as the chunks of glass on the floor came together to form a heavy tumbler again, which Ed picked up off the floor and put on the newly refurbished chest.

“You could get dressed if you are going to stand there and watch,” Ed said finally, clapping again and touching the spill of liquid on the floor, where one of the bottles of whisky had shattered.

“No,” he said, watching the way Ed made sure not to watch him.

They never faced each other after having sex, he realized. Ed was always gone within the hour, and Roy always arranged their briefings so that Ed wouldn’t be forced to come to him too soon.

Roy wasn’t sure what he'd expected to happen this time, but Ed cleaning up his apartment definitely wasn’t it.

Ed sighed, and Roy was distracted by the stretch of muscles on his back. He itched to touch them, and he was still tipsy enough he didn’t care about the consequences.

Yet.

It only took a few steps to reach Ed. He put his hands on the small of his back, feeling the jolt that went through the younger man.  
“What,” Ed was already turning, always facing the danger, never turning away.

“I want you again,” Roy said, unthinking, stepping into Ed’s movement and catching his face and bending down to kiss him.

Ed made sounds -- small, surprised, maybe even angry sounds -- under his lips. But he kept his metal arm away, and his flesh one kept touching and jerking away from Roy’s chest as if Roy was made of fire itself.

Roy _wanted_.

Suddenly, fiercely, with everything he was, he _wanted_ Ed. He licked into him, pulling him closer, until they were pressed chest to chest.

He broke the kiss, going to Ed’s neck, biting and licking there until Ed bent his head back, exposing more of his throat with a groan. He pushed his hands into the leather pants and found where Ed was still a little swollen and slick, pushing his fingers into the intoxicating heat of him.

“You bastard,” Ed whispered on an exhale, his hands gripping Roy’s shoulders.

Roy took him again, then.

Ed braced himself against the wall, his metal arm digging furrows in the newly repaired plaster, long hair sticking to his sweaty back. He raised up on his toes each time Roy pushed in, deep enough to have their bodies flush against each other. Ed was hot inside, slick and so tight that it wiped every single thought out of his mind except the taste and feel of Ed. He mouthed at anything he could reach, Ed’s ear, his cheek, his neck, leaving mark after mark, even as he fucked slow and deep into him. Ed’s left hand was on Roy’s head, warm fingers digging in hard, pulling at his hair, scratching the sweaty skin. He smelled like sweat and sex, the ozone smell of multiple alchemic reactions clinging to his skin adding a tang. Roy could feel this moment, this scent, this feeling etching itself into his bones.

When he woke later, long before dawn, his shoulders scratched and bruised from Ed’s fingers and the hangover pounding in his head, he was alone.

His sitting room was pristine. The wall that Ed had scored with his metal fingers had been repaired, not a hint of what had happened remaining. In the quiet of the pre-dawn hours it felt like a dream, memories fading at the edges into the unreality of fantasy. Some part of him couldn’t believe it had happened, couldn’t believe he'd _had_ Ed, trembling and taking him in, accepting him in ways Roy couldn't even imagine. Only the ache of the bruises served as proof of Ed ever being here.

Until he turned and saw what was waiting for him under the window. The empty bottles were gone, and in their place was an incredibly ugly glass statue of a gargoyle. It rested on top of his transmuted table, grey stone instead of glossy black, with more gargoyles adorning the corners.

If Roy grinned stupidly at the hideous things, well, there was nobody to see him.

\---

Ed hated alcohol. It tasted awful, smelled even worse, and made him sick as a dog.

But the bastard was right, it did serve as a good distraction.

Currently, he was too sick, too drunk, to think much about anything. Definitely not about how it felt to dig out his own mother’s grave to retrieve bits of her body, because he'd made an abomination that had her face and now needed remnants of her body to kill the thing.

Fuck alcohol. Ed was retching again.

Somewhere between the second bar and the third fight (which Ed started himself), he realized somebody had taken away his bottle. He would have fought them, but he was too busy retching in a corner, so sick he couldn’t even see straight.

There were hands on his hair then, cool and familiar as they held his hair back from his face. He thought he recognized the touch, but then another spasm wracked his body and he couldn’t think of anything but the bile burning his throat as it made its way out of his body.

He remembered coming to, sensing motion, his head resting on something soft that smelled familiar. A lap, his head was on somebody’s lap. He was in a car, the sound of the engine registering through the buzz in his head. There was the same hand in his hair, its touch soothing in a way Ed hadn't felt since his mother died.

His mother, oh God.

Abruptly he was sick again, but his stomach was empty so all he could do was gag and choke until the darkness swallowed him up again.

He woke feeling like death warmed over. His head pounded fiercely and his tongue felt like it had grown fur and swelled up at least three sizes. His stomach rolled uneasily as if he was on a boat, rather than a perfectly stationary bed. The light falling in through the window sent sharp daggers of agony into his eyes. Ed rolled to his side, groaning. He was never going to drink alcohol ever again. Ever.

Finally he managed to sit up, eyes still closed, swinging his body around and letting his legs hit the floor. Only instead of the cheap linoleum floors of his dorm, he felt plush, warm carpet under his toes.

He opened his eyes and looked around, realizing he was in a familiar bedroom, but one that definitely wasn’t _his_.

It was Mustang's.

“Fuck,” Ed groaned.

“No,” said the man’s voice, low and smooth, as unreadable as always. “We didn’t.”

Ed fought the urge to snort, unsure if his head could take it. Of course they hadn't fucked. He must have looked like roadkill for most of the night.

Mustang was dressed down. He had his uniform pants on, but the top button of his white shirt was undone and the sleeves rolled up, exposing the strong forearms and shockingly naked hands. Ed blinked, surprised at seeing them so bare. He had a glass of water in one hand and something hidden in his other one.

It was rare to see Mustang without his gloves on. His eyes were dark and half-lidded, and Ed almost thought he looked angry, though (as always) the emotion was buried deep under his impassive mask.

Between the headache and the dizziness, he didn’t have enough brainpower to dig through Mustang's layers right then.

“What?” he snapped, groaning again as the sound of his own voice made the headache worse.

Mustang looked at him for a moment longer, then let his gaze drop. The unbuttoned shirt looked way too good on the man.

“Take these, they should help with the hangover.” The Colonel came closer, showing Ed three pills in his hand. He had really nice forearms.

Ed took the pills and threw them into his mouth, then reached for the water.

“Careful,” Mustang said. “If you chug it you'll throw up again.”

Ed’s throat was still sore from yesterday, so as much as he felt like he was going to die from thirst, he forced himself to drink slowly. It wasn't until he'd drained the glass in small swallows that he realized he hadn't even hesitated with the pills. He hadn't even asked what they were for.

He simply trusted Mustang.

He looked up at the man, still standing patiently beside him, his face as placid as always, every emotion buried as deep as humanly possible.

“You should take a shower,” Mustang nodded towards a door to Ed’s left. He kept carefully out of touching distance.

“Yeah.” Ed already felt like something that had been chewed up and vomited out. He struggled to his feet, pleased to discover he could stand and that he only wanted to die a little from the effort. He staggered towards the door, pulling at the t-shirt he was wearing. It was oddly long on him but tight in the shoulders and he absolutely didn’t remember owning anything as ill fitting.

“You know I wouldn’t, right?” Mustang’s voice stopped him at the door.

Ed paused, blinking, feeling slow and lagging behind, like there was a conversation he was missing here. “Wouldn’t what?” He turned, slowly enough that he even managed to keep his footing through the dizziness.

“Take advantage of you when you were drunk,” Mustang said, and his voice had that artificial flatness that Ed hated with a passion.

Ed blinked, feeling his headache mount. “Duh?” He blinked at Mustang, confused and slightly irritated. He was feeling like shit and the shower was calling him.

It may have been his imagination but he thought something in that porcelain mask of a face loosened up, a hint of warmth creeping into those sharp black eyes.

“I'll make you something to eat,” Mustang said, his voice definitely warmer now.

Ed shook his head and immediately groaned at the way it made everything swim for a moment, his stomach giving an experimental heave. “Fucking masochist,” he muttered, staggering on towards the bathroom. “How can you drink if this is what it gets you?" He did his best to pull the t-shirt off without killing himself in the process. “Idiot. Why would you even do that to yourself?”

Then there was hot water and steam, washing away the filth of the previous night, and by the time Ed stepped out of the shower he was feeling less like last week's roadkill and more like a (mostly) living human being. There was still the unpleasant feeling of having, say, a week-old dead rat decomposing in his stomach, but at least his head wasn't swimming every time he turned it, he wasn't covered in puke, and he didn't smell like a barroom floor.

When he made his way to the kitchen, squinting his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, he found Mustang leaning his back against the counter, bare hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, head bowed over the steam.

Ed paused in the doorway, just watching him for a moment. His black hair was falling a little forward, too short to get into his eyes but brushing his pale forehead gently. There was something of the Xingan in him, Ed realized with mild surprise. It was in the paleness of his skin, the narrow, slanted eyes, the particularly fine texture of his thick black hair.

He seemed unaware of Ed in that moment, face relaxed rather than consciously arranged into that perfect mask that betrayed nothing. He was barefoot and somehow that seemed to make him look almost painfully vulnerable.

Mustang… Roy… looked different out of his uniform, human and fallible, with his naked hands and bare, surprisingly skinny, feet.

Ed cleared his throat and Roy changed. Not physically -- he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle -- but something in him shifted, retreated behind that impenetrable mask.

“Sit down,” Roy said, pointing to one of the chairs by the small kitchen table. “The food is ready.”

Ed did as he was told, spying another full glass of water and reaching for it instantly. “How did I end up here?” he asked absently, as he watched Roy load up a plate with eggs, bacon and veggies from a steaming frying pan.

Roy put the plate in front of Ed. His stomach rolled once at the sight of food, but then it growled because it was food and Ed was _always_ hungry.

“Somebody who knows you are under my command called me,” Roy said in careful, measured words, and immediately Ed knew he wasn’t going to say anything further on the subject. Briefly, he wondered if Roy had somebody spying on him.

As Ed ate he thought back to the previous day. He couldn’t remember much after the first bottle, just fragmentary images and snatches of sounds. He looked at his left hand, his knuckles red and swollen. “Did I fight?”

"Yes." Roy took a sip from his cup, the scent of coffee drifting towards Ed, strong with undertone of something spicy. “More than once,” he added. “When I arrived you were just finishing wiping the floor with some kind of gang.” He looked at Ed, a wry curl to his lip. “I was impressed. Not many people are capable of fighting off four opponents in between retching the contents of their stomach out.”

Ah. Okay. _That_ he remembered. Not the people he'd fought, but the vomiting. There had been so much of it. He was never drinking alcohol again.

“I don’t remember,” he said and that was seriously disturbing, not having any recollection of what he did.

“You might regain those memories,” Roy said, sitting down in the chair across from, his mug thumping gently on the table. “I hear it happens.”

“You hear?” Ed blinked up at him, briefly pausing in shovelling food into his mouth.

Mustang smirked at him from across the table, looking disgustingly smug and unfairly attractive. “I don’t get blackout drunk.”

Of course he didn’t, because he was too much of a bastard to share simple human weaknesses with other people.

He was already feeling better, either the food or the painkillers or both taking away most of the dizziness and the headache.

“Why did you do it?” Mustang asked after a long moment, when Ed was close to finishing up his plate and considering whether he had the space for more.

Ed had to close his eyes, the memories lashing across his brain, of damp earth and rotting wood, of dirt under his fingernails. He put the fork down and swallowed compulsively, hoping he wouldn't throw up his meal. “Not your business,” he rasped, because he couldn’t, physically _couldn't_ , talk about it.

The little bit of warmth in Roy’s eyes shuttered itself away and he nodded, withdrawing mentally though he didn’t move physically. Ed felt the loss keenly, but almost immediately his disappointment turned to anger at himself for feeling it. He had other things to do, other worries right now, more important by far than… whatever this was between them.

Roy wasn’t looking at him, his eyes fixed on his coffee as if he could divine the future from it. “This thing you do to hurt yourself,” he said eventually, his words slow and careful. He got up from the table and put his half-empty mug in the sink, then he turned back to Ed, his face a perfect mask of nothing. Ed saw the way his fingers twitched, only once, and thought that he must be missing his gloves. He braced himself for whatever Mustang was about to say next. “Whether it's some kind of punishment for your failures, real or imagined, or just plain self destruction,” Roy licked his lips once, then finished firmly, “I won’t be part of it.”

Roy’s eyes were very dark and very steady as they watched, cataloguing Ed's reactions without giving away anything of his own.

Ed put the fork down again, his eyes fixed on Roy. “What?” he asked flatly, mind spinning and queasiness rising again in his stomach.

“If having sex with me,” Roy said, his words even and emotionless, “Is something you do to punish yourself, then I will have no part in it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Not so much the words,, but the way Roy stood there, unarmed and bracing himself, waiting quietly for Ed to confirm his darkest speculations.

Ed opened his mouth but the words died in his throat. He'd been so careful not to think of what they did, not to put a name to it. Because Al still didn't have a body, Al was losing bits and pieces of his humanity with every second, and Ed, instead of spending every waking moment trying to help him, was busy getting off with a man that made his insides tie themselves into knots.

“Why would you…” Ed said faintly, stalling for time, guilt rising up bitter and thick in his throat.

“I don’t know, Fullmetal,” Roy drawled, the familiar, irritating smirk coming back into his voice. Roy wielded his words like Ed wielded his anger, shield and weapon in one, a perfect cover to hide what was underneath. “Maybe because you only seem amenable when I’m drunk as hell?”

Beyond the bitter guilt, Ed could feel himself going cold. Roy was looking at him impassively, facing Ed like he would an enemy. He was hard, unyielding, braced for taking damage, the warmth of his gaze that had made Ed feel like something whole and desirable, entirely gone.

Roy thought Ed was letting Roy fuck him as a way to hurt himself? While Ed understood the urge to do that -- sometimes, yes, he wanted to break his own bones, make himself bleed, _so many _times in fact, just to show on the outside how broken he felt on the inside -- he _didn’t have the luxury_. He had to find a way to restore Al; there was no time to bother with the mess in his own head.__

__He thought of Roy after Maes's death, broken and bitterly angry. He thought of Roy at Hawkeye’s birthday, relaxed and almost happy, eyes warm and smiles coming easy. He thought of all the versions of Roy that he'd gotten to experience, and guilt twisted his insides up._ _

__“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said quietly, getting up from the chair. He took a step closer to Roy and paused. “I swear it.”_ _

__“Then… why?” There was warmth slowly coming back into Roy’s eyes, the distanced flatness receding somewhat._ _

__Ed swallowed, painfully aware of all the differences between them. Roy with his perfect body and perfect clothes, even his hair styled to make him look as good as possible. Ed in a borrowed, too-small t-shirt and boxers, scarred and incomplete. He looked like the victim of some brutal crime in comparison to the smoothness of Roy Mustang’s whole being._ _

__“Because I didn’t have to take responsibility,” Ed said finally, wanting the truth out no matter how much it hurt. “Because if you were drunk, then I didn’t need to think about why and how, I didn’t need to talk or even put a name to what was happening,” now it was Ed’s turn to smile, a crooked little thing, there and gone. “I could just _have_ it,” he finished. “Like the selfish bastard I am.”_ _

__Ed could see understanding dawn, could see the flash of it across Roy’s face, the widening of his eyes and behind it the flash of something too close to pity for comfort._ _

__“Alphonse,” Roy said quietly._ _

__Ed nodded. “I can’t… I shouldn't have good things when Al can’t, not when it was all my fault to begin with.”_ _

__“But you can,” Roy said unexpectedly. “It isn't disloyalty, Ed. Not when you sacrifice every waking minute to your brother, not when I, too, will help you restore him. It’s not a betrayal.”_ _

__Ed swallowed, looking at Roy, seeing the porcelain mask slipping further, letting him in again._ _

__“You can have good things.” Roy reached out his hand, letting it stop between them, palm up. _Offering_. “It doesn’t change the fact that you will restore your brother. I have full confidence in you.”_ _

__Ed wasn’t sure if he was reading Roy right, if he understood everything the man was offering, but he could already feel how much it meant to him. His chest was tight and his heart was beating painfully hard. Some part of him wanted desperately to take Roy’s offered hand, to see if he could really have something good like that, to be selfish just for once. He imagined it for a wild moment, letting himself feel the fantasy of touch and comfort._ _

__Then he closed his eyes, swallowing down the words he longed to say. He thought of the homunculi, of the one they'd created that was now wearing his mother's face. He thought of the secret of the Philosopher's Stone and what he still needed to do._ _

__“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking a step back._ _

__Something terrible flicked through Roy’s eyes, another crime Ed had committed, however unwittingly. But he wasn’t his own person, not yet, and he didn’t have the right to pretend otherwise._ _

__Roy kept his hand extended between them in silent entreaty for a few heartbeats longer, then dropped it to his side. His eyes shuttered, the mask of blankness slotting back into place, hiding whatever he felt from Ed. From the world._ _

__“I understand,” he said quietly, his voice even and pleasant, not a shred of honesty in it._ _

__Ed shook his head, taking another step back. He couldn't do it now, not with Sloth after them, not with everything that was going on. Later, when things were settled once and for all, he would come back and explain, try to fix the damage he'd done. He just needed a little time._ _

__He didn't know then that it would be years before he and Roy would have a chance to talk again._ _


	4. Chapter 4

“Fuhrer Mustang, sir!”

Roy nodded absently to the soldier saluting him. He was walking the camp, making sure as many of the soldiers seas possible saw him, especially the troops that were going to be holding the front line during tomorrow's attack. He'd delegated most of his duties for this morning elsewhere and postponed what he couldn’t delegate, while Riza and her team made sure the selected people were performing up to her standards.

He left the field hospital for last. Seeing the young men and women who were hurt and dying, barely kept together by sutures and drugs, would spark enough rage to power what he needed to do.

It didn't surprise him that Drachma had chosen to launch the bulk of its campaign in winter; the Briggs Mountains were nearly impassable and killed more Amestrian soldiers than Drachma’s soldiers ever did.

As a Fuhrer his accommodations were the best available, which amounted to a basic shack built by engineers since none of the alchemists in the army, including Roy, knew how to build houses with arrays. His R&D team kept telling him it was impossible, that the number of different arrays that would have to be activated simultaneously were impossible for one mind to handle. And apparently two alchemists couldn’t overlay their arrays and transform the same matter at the same time, or so they said.

Yet Roy remembered the Elric brothers transmuting together, using each other’s arrays, even taking over control of an active array. Not to mention Ed creating fully functional houses that included electricity and running water -- hell, even heat distribution if he had the materials at hand. But what Ed could do, nobody else could replicate. People could do pieces of it, with proper preparation and a lot of effort, but not all of it, and not with anywhere near the ease. Ed could rearrange reality around himself with half a second of thought and a clap of his hands. A cold, nasty part of Roy whispered that Al would be just as good a replacement, not only equally talented (if not more so) but a much more controllable and steady personality.

Roy shook his head. This was a waste of time. He'd gone to considerable effort to sequester Alphonse safely in Central and make sure he couldn’t ever be drafted; to endanger him now would be the height of foolishness. He would just have to deal with having a shack for accomodations.

Ed was gone, had been gone for almost two years now, travelling somewhere far away, and Roy was forced to cope without his wide array of skills. Looking up at the grey sky, the icy chill cutting through the thick winter coat and uniform alike, making his hands ache, Roy was glad.

Ed had seen enough horror in his life. He didn’t need to see the war too.

Roy entered his hut, a pitiful structure but still better than the tents the rest of the army was forced to use, and went to one of the two transportable furnaces to warm his hands. The scars on his hands ached fiercely in the constant cold, making his hands seize up to near immobility at times. Snapping his fingers hurt, in this cold, but Roy supposed it was only right that it should.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, moving away from the furnace. He didn’t want to show his weakness to strangers.

Riza came in and snapped off a textbook-perfect salute. He'd asked her so many times to drop the formalities, but while she'd been willing to abandon protocol while he was still a Colonel, she wasn’t now that he was the Fuhrer.

“General Hawkeye,” he greeted, equally formal.

She nodded at him and turned towards the door as the other person entered. Jack Anderson was rather young for the position he was given, but he came with the kind of recommendation that frankly nobody was capable of disregarding.

About half a year after Maes's death, Garcia had come to Roy with a suitcase full of dossiers and letters. Apparently Maes had been working on a million different what-if scenarios, including "What if Maes dies?". He'd compiled a comprehensive list of people with specific instructions as to which positions they should take and how they could be swayed to be loyal to Roy’s cause.

Anderson had already been a protege of a sort, Maes grooming him to take over eventually. Roy hated that he'd ever met Anderson, hated having to replace Maes in any way, even the smallest. But he was a good man, loyal to the cause if not to Roy himself. He was especially needed now, with Drachma and Aerugo allied to attack Amestris a mere six months after Roy was appointed Fuhrer.

“Lt. General,” he nodded as the man saluted.

Tall and blond, Anderson had the kind of mobile, youthful face that reminded Roy almost painfully of Edward. His sharp mind was also reminiscent of the older Elric, but the willingness to carry out orders set him apart. Edward had always reacted extremely badly to any kind of orders. Except on that one single occasion.

“Progress report?” Roy asked, sitting down in his favorite chair near the table with a map of the area spread out on it. He hated that the conflict had lasted long enough that he even _had_ a favorite chair in this godforsaken place.

“We buried the last attractor last night, under the cover of the third artillery wave moving to shift the front line. We gave back the ground after sunrise, as you ordered.”

“Losses?”

“Within expectations,” Anderson said calmly, going to the map and taking a handful of red stickers from the bin beside it. “One of the two alchemists assigned to the squads got seriously hurt, the other suffered severe exhaustion and hypothermia but should recover soon."

“Who?” Roy made sure to know all his alchemists. It was good practice, to be familiar with his army’s heaviest hitters even if none of them were of his caliber. He was honest enough with himself, though, to know the real reason he spent so much time getting to know them: they weren’t Edward, but they were so enthusiastic about their alchemy it soothed a vague ache inside him.

“Lt. Colonel Maria Campbell was shot in the chest. Lt. Colonel Mark Stavros managed to get both his and Campbell’s attractors buried. He had to go deeper into the woods during the night while our boys created the diversion, hence the exhaustion and hypothermia.”

Roy nodded, making a mental note to find out about Campbell’s family so they would be taken care of if she should die, and to reward Stavros for his dedication and bravery.

Anderson placed eight red stickers along the front line, at the end of a long line of other red stickers. Roy’s four months of preparation were finally coming to fruition. He looked at the map, the red stickers forming a winding line all along the extended mountain range. Placement of every one of those dots had cost lives, whether it be the alchemists that buried the attractors, or the soldiers volunteering to lead forward attacks that were designed to fail. Roy needed the attractors buried just under the Drachma front line; that meant taking the ground, and then giving it up again. They had to make the constant give and take, advance and retreat, look real enough that nobody on the other side would suspect what was actually going on.

Roy wasn’t going to allow this fight to go on any longer. A constant tug of war over the godforsaken mountains only served to bleed their resources and raise the body count on Amestris's side. Drachma was surrounded by mountains on three sides, its people familiar with the extreme temperatures and topography, which translated to roughly four Amestris soldiers dying for every Drachman they killed.

Roy was going to end this conflict in one single show of strength. He would make sure no more of his soldiers died here.

“That’s the end of phase two,” he said. Every person in the room knew what phase three would be.

Anderson swallowed, looking both terrified and somehow disbelieving. Roy couldn’t blame the man. If he hadn’t been through the Gate himself, Roy wouldn’t think what he was planning was possible either.

But it was, and Roy was going to do it even if it killed him.

“Sir, are you sure…”

“I have plans in place in case I fail,” Roy said mildly, feeling strangely patient. The rage he felt wasn't for these people; it was at seeing young men and women die, bodies ripped apart by artillery fire. None of them asked for this, they were merely protecting the borders of their homeland.

“Yes, sir.” Anderson looked uneasy, as if he feared Roy was going to have him flogged for disrespecting his CO.

“It will start an hour before sunrise,” Roy said. “I will not be disturbed until that time. I need to prepare.”

Anderson nodded, casting a last disbelieving look at the map that covered over six hundred miles of territory. “Yes, Fuhrer Mustang.”

Roy smiled, mostly for Anderson’s benefit. He felt hollow, even his anger and horror were distant and unimportant. He briefly wished Ed was there, before remembering that Edward would never condone what he was about to do.

“Dismissed,” he said and watched the man leave, his blond hair glowing in the light of the lamps, like and yet painfully unlike another shade of gold, a shade he'd not seen in two years.

Riza was standing quietly against the furthest wall, unobtrusive and watchful, the perfect sentinel. She'd been angry at him at the beginning of the conflict, when he reassigned her and told her in no uncertain terms that she would never see the fighting first hand. He would bury her in so much red tape and administrative duties, she'd never even come close to the fighting. When he reassigned her away from managing his protection, she screamed at him. She knew he would have to join the fighting sooner or later. Fuhrer or no, he was the heaviest hitter they had and fighting a war on two fronts while the internal workings of Amestris were in flux, old Bradley’s supporters still causing trouble, was exhausting enough. They couldn’t afford to pander to his weakness. She was icily polite to him for well over half a year, until winter set in and the real casualties started.

Roy looked at her, the emptiness inside him yawning wider than ever. His goal was to end the warmongering, to shift Amestris towards a democracy, to make sure no single individual could ever again take control and force them into conflict. He wanted to make sure no other alchemists would ever be forced to use their gifts to murder people in horrible and inescapable ways.

He expected problems, skirmishes maybe, but he hadn’t expected the bold move Drachma and Aerugo made when Amestris was at its weakest.

After sunrise, things would change in ways Roy couldn’t fully predict, but it would be enough to make clear that Amestris was not up for the taking, not while it was Roy’s to defend.

Riza looked older, tiny crow's feet in the corners of her eyes a direct result of long-term stress. Her hair was cut short again, -- easier to keep up in time of war, he supposed. Or maybe it was just another side of the grief she was hiding from him. Roy knew about the young Lieutenant she'd been going out with, who had been killed within the first month of the conflict. Once upon a time she would have told him why she cut it, would have shared her fears and grief with him, but no longer. There was a distance between them now, ever since their failed attempt at a relationship, and Roy didn’t know how to bridge it. He loved her, deeply and fiercely, but despite that they hadn't worked out as lovers. Too much history between them, probably. He could never look at her back without choking on guilt and she couldn’t forget what he'd made his alchemy into. But despite the coldness, Roy knew he could trust Riza with his life, his very soul. She was his closest friend still, an older companion than even Maes. She was the source of his power and his greatest crime. Riza Hawkeye was the embodiment of everything human that Roy had lost over the years.

He stood up, casting one last look at the intimidatingly long line of red stickers on the map. It would either make him or break him, but either way his people would walk away victorious and alive from this. A very cold part of him whispered that he would become untouchable if this worked, his rule unquestionable.

He shrugged off his coat, letting it rest on the chair he just vacated, then he reached to his holster and pulled out his side arm. Riza twitched, her hand going for her own weapon, eyes flickering around the room, trying to identify whatever threat Roy had sensed.

Roy couldn't help but smile gently at this. Loyal to the end. They might have lost the ability to talk to each other, but she was still his friend.

But what he was going to do, that might be the real end for them. She'd told him, once, that she walked behind him not only to protect his back from enemies, but also to put a bullet in his back should he ever stray from the correct path. Roy loved her for that.

Roy checked that there were bullets in the magazine and that the safety was off, then he switched his hold on the gun to grip it by the barrel and extended it, handle first, towards Riza.

Her eyes widened, surprise appearing only briefly before pain chased it away.

“If you are going to do it,” Roy said quietly, “Now is the time.”

Her eyes flicked down to the gun. She wasn’t afraid of it, he knew. She was the best damn sniper he'd ever met and truly loved guns, even if she abhorred killing.

“Roy,” she said, calling him by name for the first time in a very long time, and something in Roy’s chest coiled tighter at the wretched tone in which she said it. He raised his other hand and gently brushed the dark circles under her eye with his thumb, wishing his touch could smooth away the marks of her pain.

“You know the plan,” he said. “Even Anderson doesn’t. Nobody understands the scope of what I’m going to do. Except you.” He came closer, never taking his eyes from her. If she decided to do it, to pull the trigger on him, he would understand. He wouldn't fight, wouldn't try to talk her out of it. She was the symbol of the humanity he'd lost, the parts of him that the war and his own betrayal had burned away. Sometimes it was hard to see beyond the goal that was in the forefront of his mind, beyond the thousand and one plans that coiled in his brain.

Sometimes, it was hard to look at himself and see the truth.

“You know how many will die,” he said evenly.

Riza’s hands curled into fists, her gloves creaking, and she looked away from him, licking her lips.

“Thousands,” she whispered, “maybe even tens of thousands, if we add in the wounded that will die in the coming days.”

 _Daybreak_ , that was their code name for the project, a new dawn for better or worse, an end to the war. Roy couldn’t imagine Drachma would be able to withstand more than one attack of such magnitude without flying the white flag.

“It is your decision,” he said softly. “Because I made mine already. This needs to end, and it _will_ end tomorrow.”

Riza raised a gloved hand to her face and covered her eyes. “When I showed you the tattoo all those years ago,” she said, voice shaking, “you were supposed to use the knowledge to make Amestris a better place.” She dropped her hand and looked him straight in the face. “Instead you left a trail of bodies in your wake, a state sanctioned mass murderer.”

Roy nodded. Yes. His good intentions had paved the road to his own personal hell and taken hundreds of people with him. This, what he was planning, would be the greatest atrocity ever committed by a single person.

“You had me burn your back in punishment,” he said. He still had nightmares of that day, of the stench of burning skin, peeling back and pulling away from her muscles. She'd watched in the mirror throughout, agonized and so very strong. She didn’t let him look away for a single moment, not until enough of the tattoo was burned off that nobody could decipher its secrets. But it had also been a kind of mercy, however twisted and horrifying. With the tattoo burned away, she was no longer the guardian of her father’s legacy. She could choose any life she wanted… but she chose Roy instead.

A punishment and a reminder, for them both. Of the cost of truth and the consequences of betrayal.

“I wanted to hate you,” she said, taking hold of the gun, her thumb on the safety. “I wanted so much to look at you and see a monster."

Her hands weren't shaking even now, they were always so steady. Roy envied her this surety, the strength of her convictions. He nodded, willing to take whatever judgement she decided on.

“We have been at war for close to eight months,” she said after a long moment. “And in that time I watched the personnel lists cross my desk, watched the casualty reports pile up, watched the body count grow.” She looked up at him, eyes steady. “To a certain extent, I do hate you. For what you twisted my father’s alchemy into. For the ease and efficiency of what you can do. For the fact, that even if you hate it and feel guilty afterward, you still _do_ it.” She swallowed. “But I can’t watch any more of our people die. Most of them are barely more than kids, just cannon fodder that dies by the thousands.” She checked the safety was on and turned the gun around, handing it back for him to take. “Your guilt, I will share,” she said, closing her eyes. “Every dead soldier, every casualty, I will share that responsibility with you because I choose not to stop you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And that makes me as much a killer as you.”

Roy didn’t know what to feel. Relief, anger, disappointment that she wouldn't make the decision for him? All that and more that he couldn't name. So he stepped closer, put his arms around her, inhaling the familiar scent of her, snow and gasoline and blood, smells of the army camp that had soaked into her clothes. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head and let his arms encircle her. Then he touched his fingertips together, activated the array he'd been carrying inside himself for months now, feeling the potential, the awareness of his surroundings expand, outward, upward, to the sky and further, the cold, dry air making everything easier.

He went to work.

\---

Ed felt like he was in some sort of a nightmare.

He'd heard about the war when he was in Xing, trying and failing to pick up the Alkahestry and figure out what he wanted, newly-minted Emperor Ling smoothing his way considerably.

It was ironic, how he went from Roy smoothing his way to Ling doing the exact same thing. He hadn't asked either of them for help, yet they helped him anyway, he wasn’t sure why. Yeah, he'd slept with Roy, but that had happened so late in the game, it couldn’t possibly have been Roy’s motivation or his goal. Ling was a different matter, though maybe not that much. After all, Ed also slept with him. He tried not to think too hard about what that made him.

Getting from nearly the eastern edge of Xing to Amestris through the Great Desert was a fucking pain in the butt that took months to accomplish. By the time he reached Amestris the war was in full swing, soldiers being conscripted from every corner of the country on top of the already-sizeable army. Or at least that was what he thought. He couldn't help but notice the articles and posters, proclaiming that Bradley supporters would not be prosecuted if they put their weapons away and stopped joining the rebellions that kept sparking up here and there.

It had been a little over two years since he'd restored Al’s body and regained his limbs. He hadn't meant to stay away this long, but things happened, time got slippery when you were travelling, and his mind being a jumble of conflicting desires most of the time didn't help. After everything was over and done, after Alphonse was on his feet again and chafing at his brother's overprotectiveness and hovering, Ed realized he didn't know who he was, now that his mission was complete. Without a goal to drive his every waking moment, he felt adrift and restless. Trying to get a civilian job was a mistake -- his abhorrence of taking orders apparently transferred to any kind of a boss, not just a CO.

He still had some money left over after splitting it with Al, and Roy had made sure he got a nice send-off when he traded his watch in. Ed didn't need much, just food and a place to sleep and he was fine. His savings lasted him a long time, until Ling had figured out Ed was in his empire and proceeded to make a nuisance of himself.

War was the last thing he'd expected. He'd gone to Rizembol first, checking in on Granny and Winry. They were okay, if drowning under the amount of orders they were getting as the wounded started coming back from the front with mangled bodies and missing limbs. Winry wouldn’t look him in the eye for long, but seemed happy enough to see him. Alphonse wasn't there, which Ed had known from his letters. What he didn't know, had only just learned, was that Al was apparently working in Central now. As a civilian contractor.

It didn't escape Ed that Central was possibly the safest place for anyone to be, well-defended and away from both front lines.

Apparently he'd changed enough, what with the no more metal limbs and the growing up/filling out he'd done, that people in the city no longer recognized him on sight. He wondered whether getting a flashy red coat would help. Almost everybody in Central Command was new, all of the old faces gone. It took a fucking long time to get through security to actually _see_ his brother, who was still a little skinny but healthy and strong. Ed counted himself lucky that he escaped the reunion without any cracked ribs from the fierce hugs. His dignity didn't fare so well. Who knew his face went an ugly, splotchy red when he cried?

Once in the city, he wanted to find Mustang, but his townhouse was empty, all the furniture gone. Well, it made sense. He was a Fuhrer now, access to him was probably severely limited. He tried asking Al where he could find Roy, but Al couldn't help him. The Fuhrer’s whereabouts were strictly confidential and Ed was no longer part of the military, his security clearance revoked. All Alphonse knew was that Roy was at one of the fronts, but not which one. That information was kept strictly secret.

Ed knew Roy though, and he knew that if Roy was at the front he would be fighting sooner or later. There were as yet no rumors of the Flame Alchemist in action, but Ed didn’t know how well the press was controlled and how much he could trust the news. So he went to the Aerugo front on the northeast border, figuring that the heat and dryness of the desert would speak to Roy’s alchemy.

It took weeks of travel to get there and then he spent days searching for anyone familiar who was willing to vouch for him, until he heard a rumor that General Armstrong was nearby. He went where the rumors suggested, but he found Olivier instead. She turned out to be surprisingly helpful, sending him with a letter of recommendation towards the Briggs Mountains, because apparently Roy Mustang just had to make his life difficult. She knew Roy was planning something and was obviously incredibly offended by the fact that he wasn't sharing, so anything that would be a thorn in Roy’s side was apparently a worthy case to support.

It took another few weeks to get to the Drachma border, what with all trains being commandeered as military transport. He cursed the lack of his trademark red coat and even his missing automail as he was stopped at every single checkpoint and his letter of recommendation investigated and reconfirmed every single time.

It was near dawn on a summer morning when he jumped out of the transport on which he'd hitched a ride and walked into the camp. There was something strange in the air. Even while riding huddled in the back of the truck, he could smell the alchemy in the air. Dark, thick storm clouds filled the sky, coiling low and heavy. He watched them, sensing something wrong with them but unable to put his finger on what exactly.

In the camp proper the sense of anticipation was oppressive, tension so thick in the air it felt like a physical entity. The distant boom and chatter of artillery was the only sound cutting through the strange hush that hung over the camp. He walked between the snowed-in tents, dodging the small firepits scattered around and the deep muddy grooves made by military trucks in the soggy earth. Everything smelled like gasoline and waste, the few soldiers he saw looked cold and exhausted, shadows in their eyes as they all, to a man, gazed towards the frontlines.

Ed realized there was no way he was going to find Roy in this mess. There were too many identical tents stretched out in every direction, too many people.

“Boss?” he heard a familiar voice.

Ed turned and saw Havoc behind him, his heavy coat only half-closed. “Havoc!” he smiled, giving the man a quick hug. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too,” Havoc hugged back, but released him almost immediately, looking distractedly towards the same distant point that held everyone else's attention.

“I’m looking for,” he almost said "Roy" but caught himself at the last moment. “I'm looking for Mustang.”

Havoc blinked at him, a strange expression on his face, then shook his head. “Man, your timing sucks you know?”

“Why? What’s happening?”

Havoc shrugged, his eyes a lot colder than Ed remembered. “An end to the war, if we're lucky.”

A little shiver traveled down Ed's back, whether from fear or the icy wind cutting through the inadequate coat he wasn't sure.

“I guess I can take you with, I doubt the chief would mind your presence.” Havoc turned towards a cluster of soldiers standing by a line of parked jeeps and whistled. “Yo, give us a ride to ground zero,” he called out and the soldiers jumped as if electrocuted, saluting and all but scrambling to get the first jeep fired up.

“What did you do to them?” Ed asked, watching the commotion. “They look terrified.”

Havoc turned a little and pointed at his shoulder and the stars on it. “Brigadier General,” he said with a wry smile.

“Wow,” Ed said faintly. Havoc, a general. Things really had changed while he was away.

Within moments they were in the jeep and bumping along the muddy road at alarming speed.

“What’s at ground zero?” Ed asked. It sounded fairly ominous.

“That’s what we call Mustang’s location in the camp,” Havoc said easily. Then he shook his head. “You really picked a day to come back, didn’t you?”

There was something unsaid behind Havoc’s words, in the soldiers' tension, a sense of wrongness that Ed couldn't shake. Something was happening, he could feel it in his bones.

They parked the jeep behind a line of ammo stores and started jogging east, passing soldiers saluting Havoc and giving Ed curious looks. The ground was rising steeply, but Ed couldn't see anything between the clustered supply tents.

“Riza, look who I found!” Havoc shouted, veering left and disappearing behind a tent. Ed followed and found Riza Hawkeye, bundled into a similar heavy coat with similar stars on her shoulders. Her hair was short, her face pale, her eyes darker than Ed had ever seen them.

“Edward!” She greeted him with obvious pleasure, wrapping him in a quick hug. Just as Havoc had, she let him go almost as soon as she touched him, heightening the sense of urgency rising in him. He was sure that something was about to happen. Something big.

“As much as I would like to catch up, I can’t. You can come with, because knowing you, you won't stay back. But if you make a single move to interfere, I will personally shoot you,” Riza said evenly, her eyes holding his. “Am I understood?”

Ed nodded, completely disconcerted by the look in her eyes, not to mention the warning. Or was it a threat? “I just want to see Roy,” he said, and then felt like an idiot at the surprise that flashed across her face at his use of Mustang’s first name.

“I… see,” she murmured, giving him the sort of understanding look that made it impossible for Ed to keep eye contact with her. “Come on, then, and decide for yourself if you still want to see him.”

If? Ed cast her a startled look but she was already walking away, her squad following, each and every one of them casting him curious looks.

They reached an arrangement of twenty or so heavy long-range artillery guns formed into a ring, facing outwards. Inside the guns was a second circle, a line of soldiers with heavy bulletproof shields, and behind them yet another line of soldiers with rifles at the ready. Spaced evenly throughout the formation were a dozen State Alchemists, their watches displayed. All of this was clearly protecting something at the circle's center.

This close Ed could feel the faint buzz of alchemy, a reaction taking place not far away. He looked around but couldn't see any of the usual energy discharge that indicated an active transmutation.

“Somebody is performing alchemy,” he murmured.

Hawkeye gave him a strange look and then they were through the inner ring of soldiers, just as the first rays of daybreak fought their way through the thick storm clouds. There was surprisingly little wind for such weather and Ed cast the sky another suspicious glance.

Hawkeye put her hand on Ed’s shoulder, her grip hard. “Remember what I said, Edward,” she murmured and then the people in front of them shifted and he saw Roy.

He was wearing a coat similar to Hawkeye's and Havoc's, only his was obviously better designed, the wide shoulders narrowing down to fit snugly around his waist, then flaring out below his hips. It gave him an incredibly dramatic look as he stood at the top of the small rise in the center of the ring, both hands braced on the hilt of a sheathed sabre held point-down in front of him, its tip sunk in the muddy ground. His hair was a touch longer than Ed remembered and there were dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were closed and face a porcelain mask. Ed’s breath caught. He'd forgotten just how attractive Roy could be, how he carried himself with a grace and confidence that spoke to the most secret parts of Ed.

Roy was obviously performing alchemy, but it was almost too faint for Ed to track, almost like an echo. If Roy was using himself as an array, the way Ed did, Ed should be able to feel _something_.

“It’s time,” Hawkeye said evenly, her body tense as if she was facing a firing squad.

Roy opened his eyes, his lashes obscenely dark against his pale cheeks, a few snowflakes catching on them. He turned his head to look at Hawkeye and nodded.

Ed could tell the moment Roy caught sight of him. Roy's eyes widened, shock plain on his face in a moment of unguardedness that Ed would never have expected to see from him in a public place. Then something like pain settled onto his features, mingled with bitter anger and regret, and he turned his eyes to Hawkeye again. “Never took you for a cruel woman,” he said evenly, his voice hollow, and Hawkeye flushed a little.

He turned to face the destroyed land that separated the Amestris and Drachma armies. "Now," he said.

Hawkeye pulled out an oddly clunky-looking gun, aimed it at the sky and fired a single shot.

Ed felt the array activate like a punch to the gut. He backtracked by instinct, a lifetime of experience telling him to get as far away from an active array as possible.

He watched, stunned, as Roy was surrounded by the blue sparks of an active transmutation. Ed frowned, feeling the sluggish way the transmutation progressed, as if there was something wrong with it, or it was attempting to affect too much mass in comparison to the expended energy.

“What the hell is he ---"

A crack shattered the early morning air, louder even than the artillery cannons, followed by a rumble of thunder. Another crack, and another, and the gloom of the dark sky was cut through by red lightning. One, two, and suddenly Ed understood what Mustang was doing. Atmospheric manipulation. Ed looked at the sky again, the dark sky he'd seen for hours of travel, that stretched to the horizon in every direction, deep into the enemy territory. No wonder the reaction was so slow! But Roy was pulling it off. He was changing the air around them, as far as the eye could see. Ed glanced at Roy's hands, now tightly clenched on the sabre, his brows furrowed, sweat beading on his temples even in the biting cold. Then another bolt of lightning struck, too red to be natural, and flames erupted from the point of contact.

Ed gasped, feeling the potential ripple through him, feeling the possibilities opening up, tingling through his chest, and then the conflagration started.

From this far away, he couldn't hear the screams of the soldiers on the opposing side of the front lines, he couldn’t even see anything beyond the red hue that seemed to burn right through his eyelids. The roar of the flames was deafening, a physical presence bowling people over. He saw some of their own soldiers fall to their knees, crossing themselves as the whole goddamn world caught fire.

It was like being in hell, he thought, horrified, as the wall of fire rose up, burning so hot it was nearly white, an inferno that engulfed the ancient forest in mere seconds. Even the sky above them took on a crimson hue, the heavy clouds a sinister, choking presence that made Ed feel there was no escape, no respite from the conflagration. And it was only growing, lightning striking over and over, always in the no-man's-land between the two armies. It was impossible to stare for long at the flames; the heat was so powerful Ed could feel his cheeks stinging and was forced to raise his arms to protect his face from the scorching wind. He looked at Roy, still standing straight and proud, eyes half closed as he stared at the armageddon he had started, his hair whipping around him in the wind of ash and cinders.

Ed could feel the transmutation growing, could feel the reaction getting stronger, building up, feeding on itself. He tried to judge the distance, tried to see how far into enemy territory the pulsing, roaring wall of flame reached, how far it extended to every side, but he couldn’t. There was no end, no respite, only an infinity of fire, an absolute and utter destruction of everything living.

“No,” he said, thinking of the little dark dots of the enemy army on the other side of no-man's-land, of the hundreds -- no, thousands -- of lives being extinguished in the most brutal assault he'd ever witnessed. “No!” he shouted. “Enough!” Surely, surely they'd already made their point. Nobody could survive this, there probably wasn't even enough oxygen to breathe closer to the flames, and Roy was pushing the flames directly at the enemy, unstoppable and devastating.

He moved, faster than Hawkeye could react, covering the distance between himself and Roy in two bounds, tackling him and bringing him to the ground with sheer momentum, hoping that would be enough to break his concentration, to stop this senseless murder. It surely was enough, the damage done already. Roy could stop now, had to _stop_.

Roy didn’t fight him. He went down easily, almost softly, landing on his back, his half-open eyes focusing on Ed with an expression impossible to read.

The reaction was still going strong, still building, Ed could feel it like shards of glass under his skin, grating on his nerves with every breath of the scorching air.

“Enough!” he shouted, hands clenched on Roy’s shoulders, shaking him. He was aware of shouting behind him, the report of a gun barely audible over the deafening, greedy, horrifying roar of the blaze. He took his hands off Roy, clapped, and slammed them into the ground on either side of Roy’s head. Roy was watching him though those wretched, dark, half-open eyes but didn’t so much as twitch to defend himself.

Mud walls rose around them, thick and sheltering, Ed’s alchemy fast and responsive even amidst the sheer madness of what was happening around them.

“I didn’t want you to see,” Roy murmured, his hands limp at his sides. Ed couldn’t hear him, could only read the movement of his lips.

The reaction was still going, and this close Ed could tell Roy was still expending energy to feed the reaction, but the amount he was using couldn’t possibly be enough to sustain the raging madness and death around them.

“Stop!” Ed yelled over the din, the reports of multiple guns joining the chaos. “Stop it, that’s enough!”

Roy looked at him with dark eyes that seemed to swallow all the light. Ed was sweating, the heat nigh unbearable. Roy said nothing, just lay there pliantly, not fighting him but not stopping the devastation either.

“Fuck!” Ed tugged at his gloves with his teeth, spitting them out as soon as they were off, reaching for any exposed skin he could find. If Roy wasn't going to listen to him, Ed was going to do it the hard way.

He clapped and pressed his hands to Roy’s wrists, the slivers of naked skin enough to close the circle and _horn in on Roy’s array_. Those who had opened the Gate of Truth didn’t need to draw the arrays anymore; the knowledge was already inside them, all they needed was to close the circle. So Ed pushed the potential, the energy that would activate an array, but gave it no focus, no form. Just as he did with Al, he pushed into the already active array, trying to get a feel for it, wrest control of it away from Mustang. Roy might be brilliant at what he did, but nobody could beat the sheer power Ed had at his disposal. He _pushed_ , hard and fast, feeling the resistance, the unnaturalness of what he was doing more keenly than ever. He gritted his teeth and pushed again, and suddenly the resistance collapsed and Ed _was in_.

It was quiet there, the roar of the flames gone, the array an airy latticework so intricate he had to close his eyes to feel it properly, running his senses over the most delicate of connections, seeing the pure beauty of it. Roy was using so little power because he didn't need more. Instead of expending huge amounts of energy, he must have paced himself for hours, changing the atmosphere bit by bit, increasing the amount of nitrogen and oxygen in the air little by little. That took care of the fuel, he had only needed a spark, or rather a lot of sparks, to constantly feed the deadly conflagration now burning away untold lives. The lightning. of course. It had been seeded, Ed realized, something in the shot Hawkeye had fired into the sky, something in the ground attracting the strikes. Ed followed the connections to the secondary arrays, let himself feel the metal in the ground, chunks of it buried but connected, energy humming in the things, drawing down strike after strike. The storm felt alive, like it was connected to Roy’s heartbeat, pulsing and ebbing, a fierce living thing.

And it was beautiful.

Terrible, yes, but so beautiful Ed felt like he could get lost in it forever.

The moment he reached for the array, the moment he understood the basis of it and was ready to look for a place to break the flow, he felt Roy stir. He'd been surprisingly passive up until then, but now his focus was like a scalpel, unbearably sharp and smooth, as it directed itself atEd, not trying to stop him, but observing in a way that raised Ed’s hair. When Roy finally made his move it was devastating, like the man himself. One moment Ed was testing the beauty of Roy’s design, the minimal amount of energy needed to keep the conflagration active, how the reaction was designed to feed itself without Roy’s input at all -- and the next _Roy_ was doing the same.

He slid in, his own energy racing along Ed’s nerves. He was in, his energy sparking, searching, randomly activating Ed’s own arrays. It felt… it felt like nothing Ed had ever experienced: intimate, painfully vulnerable, Roy’s energy, his mind, inside of Ed’s.

Vaguely he was aware of the circle closing between them, of the blue light of transmutation in progress flaring wild and bright around them, the tingle of energy passing between their bodies. He felt broken open, exposed, more so than any sex he'd ever had, any confession he'd ever made. The way Roy’s mind riffled through his arrays, his alchemy, the way he dragged his touch through the deepest, most secret parts of Ed without any other purpose than just _knowing_.

His own grasp on Roy's’ array was slipping, his attention pulled in too many places at once. He wanted to fight, he wanted to give in. It was so hard to remember what he was here to do, with Roy not even trying to defend himself, merely using Ed’s skills to his own advantage.

“Please,” he said, or maybe thought, he would never know. “Please stop. It’s enough.”

And Roy stopped.

Ed blinked his eyes open, blind and deaf to everything but the fading sense-memory of the connection that had broken the moment Roy let go of the transmutation.

Roy was motionless under him, lying in the cold, wet mud, his eyes dazed and blown. He slowly lifted a hand, the white glove shredded, exposing the scar in the middle of his palm. He touched Ed’s cheek, his cold, wet fingers trailing up to push Ed’s messy bangs away from his face.

“Ed,” he said hoarsely.

Ed stared down at the man he had tried so hard to forget for the last two years and realized that, for all his urge to find Roy, he'd never once thought of what to say to him when they did meet again.

“Yeah,” he said dumbly, too broken open by the memory of Roy’s awareness inside him, the beauty of his arrays, feeling him from the inside. “Fuck,” he muttered and leaned down to kiss him, because they'd just done something that shouldn’t have been possible and Ed’s whole body was still shivering with memory of Roy’s careful, hungry exploration.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, too much hunger and teeth to it.

Roy was less passive now, his hands tangled in Ed’s hair, pulling him close as he fought him for control of the kiss, his lips cold and chapped but at the same time the best thing Ed had ever felt. Ed could sense the latent power of Roy’s body under him, the faint buzz of energy still sparking between them.

When they broke for air, Ed realized there was absolute silence around them. No roar of fire blazing through the mountains, no rumble of thunder, no crack of lightning, not even the 'pop' of rifle shots. He raised his head, licking his stinging lips, and met Havoc’s horrified eyes across a field of… Ed squinted. Of random fucking shit, apparently.

He saw stone spears sticking out of the ground, half a bridge arching into nothingness, two sets of staircases, what looked like half a building made of sandstone and a whole host of shields and walls in a wild range of shapes and materials. And gargoyles. Big ones, medium ones, small ones, littered everywhere, each one uglier than the next.

He looked down at Roy. “So, were you just activating whatever arrays you found in my head willy nilly?”

Roy, stunned, dark eyes still fixed on Ed, blinked and then raised his own head to look around. “It’s a mess out there,” he had the audacity to complain.

And then Ed realized that every single weapon in the area was trained on him, Hawkeye front and center, her cocked gun half an inch away from Ed’s forehead. From the look on her face, she was _livid_. She probably wouldn’t _kill_ him, he thought desperately, but she definitely wasn’t above _shooting_ him.

“Riza,” Roy’s voice sounded fuzzy, words slightly slurred in a way he'd never normally permit in public, and definitely not in front of so many people.

Hawkeye kept her gun pointed at Ed as her eyes slid down to Roy, still sprawled placidly underneath him on the muddy ground.

“It’s okay, Riza,” Roy murmured, his hand gesturing lazily before landing on Ed’s knee and staying there, wet and heavy. The touch, in front of Riza and Havoc, made Ed blush, but Roy wasn’t looking at him. He was blinking dazedly at Hawkeye. “Fullmetal is officially drafted, as part of my personal protection squad,” he murmured.

Drafted? Ed's eyes widened, his temper flaring. He wasn’t here even ten minutes and the bastard already got him drafted? “Since when?!” he snarled down at Roy, whose eyes were still hazy and soft.

“Since a week ago,” Hawkeye said through clenched teeth. “The papers are probably waiting on Personnel Grandmaster’s desk.” She turned to look at Havoc, something in her expression making the man jerk back and scramble away as if his life was on the line.

“You…” Ed narrowed his eyes to glare at Hawkeye, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her gun was still pointing at his head, but her eyes -- much softer than Ed would have thought possible -- were on Roy.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, with something like guilt in her voice. “I wouldn’t have brought him here if I’d known.”

“Can somebody,” Ed said, doing an admirable job of keeping the snarl out of his voice, “explain to me exactly what the fuck is going on here?”


	5. Chapter 5

Roy tried very hard not to let anyone see how much his hands were shaking as he ate the food Riza forced on him. The stew was thick and hearty, chasing away the cold of exhaustion that had settled in his bones.

He watched Edward, sitting in the corner of Roy’s less-than-glamorous accommodations, one leg drawn up onto the chair, his elbow resting on his knee as he kept muttering something into his loosely fisted right hand. His _human_ right hand.

Roy hadn't seen Ed after the successful transformation, what with being _blind_. By the time he got his eyesight restored, Ed was already squirrelled away with his newly restored brother. Roy never got the story fully out of Alphonse, but he had a feeling that the brothers had had some kind of mild falling out that had pushed Ed to travel. But maybe Ed had just done what Roy should have expected him to do - grown into an independent person, free of both Roy and the military.

Now, at the edge of a battlefield, the air still reeking of ash and burnt flesh, Roy had to closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control the shakes. He felt mildly sick and wondered if he had a low grade fever.

“Sugar helps.” Ed's words were not much more than a sigh. Roy opened his eyes and looked at the other alchemist.

Ed was out of his chair, moving around the shack with a new kind of grace. All the angry stomping of his youth was gone, replaced with something quieter and probably more deadly. Roy had sometimes thought that Ed was only vaguely controllable in his youth because of his explosive and straightforward temper. It made him predictable, at least to Roy, who understood his motivations. If he'd had the ability to control his temper, to hide his true motives, he would have been a wild card that burned anyone who tried to touch him.

Roy watched Ed approach the crates in the corner of Roy’s shack that served as storage. He could have had real furniture brought in, but he'd refused. He didn’t want his soldiers living in tiny, drafty tents while he had all the luxuries his station allowed.

Ed took out one of the fizzy, sweet drinks that somebody insisted on stocking and popped the can open with his thumb. “How long did you have the transmutation going?” he asked, setting the open can down beside Roy’s hand but not letting go of it.

Roy couldn’t quite take his eyes off of Ed's fingers, warm flesh, with uneven nails and one tiny, freshly-pink scar on the back of the thumb. It was his right hand. The one Roy had never touched before. “Sixteen hours,” he answered briefly. He was too tired, and too distracted by Ed’s proximity, to filter his answers.

Ed clicked his tongue at him. “No wonder you look like shit.”

Roy couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Not everyone can be a powerhouse like you,” he murmured. He reached out but instead of taking the can himself, he wrapped his hand around Ed’s fingers and gently tugged it closer. Ed made no sound, but let go of the can. Roy turned Ed’s hand palm up, his thumb investigating the softness of the palm and the rough little ridges of Ed’s callouses. Roy let the pad of this thumb wander up, under the edge of the fairly ugly brown coat, feeling the hardness of the tendons under the delicate skin of Ed’s wrist.

He smiled inwardly at the way Ed’s breathing hitched and sped up just that little bit at his touch.

“Roy.” Ed’s voice was a little hoarse, quiet. He cleared his throat. “You should eat and rest. It’s the only thing for alchemic exhaustion.”

“Yes,” Roy nodded, his thumb still making tiny circles on the inside of Ed’s wrist. “You didn’t used to call me by my first name,” he said.

Ed pulled back, slowly enough that Roy had all the time in the world to feel the loss, and tucked his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders hunching forward, not looking at him. “It was easier if I didn't.” Easier to keep a distance, easier to build walls that Roy couldn’t break through.

Roy picked up the can and drank the fizzy, cloyingly sweet drink. It was objectively awful, but after a few swallows Roy had to admit that it did lessen his headache.

Ed went back to the chair he'd abandoned. His braid was longer, a golden rope now reaching the small of his back, but his brown coat was an unflattering length and cut. Roy had no idea how someone who used to wear a flashy, well-designed, flame-red coat over all-black could possibly have shifted to browns and creams, so baggy and so horrible Roy ached to just burn them.

“I won’t send you into battle,” Roy said, going back to his stew. His hands were shaking less, but the shivers and ravenous hunger persisted.

Ed sat with one leg curled under him, the other stretched out in front. “Then why did you draft me, you bastard?” he snarled, the familiar temper flaring. “So that you can order me around again?”

Roy huffed. “We both know it wasn’t being in the military that made you take orders well.” Alphonse had a sway over his brother like no other.

Ed went suspiciously quiet, and when Roy lifted his head he saw the younger man staring at him with wide eyes, lips half open and a furious blush staining his cheeks.

Later, Roy would blame his slowness on the exhaustion. He stared, fascinated at Ed’s blush, and then the memories came unbidden. Of Ed pinned between Roy’s body and the wall, Ed under him on the bed, Ed making breathy noises of pleasure and taking direction very, very well.

“Fuck,” Ed rubbed his palm over his face, trying to hide the blush and making his already messy hair even worse.

Roy cleared his throat, trying to banish the memory of fucking Ed against the wall in his old apartment, how it had felt to sink into that tight body, to hear the way his body shuddered on every exhale.

“I meant,” Roy said, pleased at how even his voice was, “that I didn’t particularly relish the idea of seeing you shot down on top of me.” Memories of past passion vanished as he realized once again how very close Ed had come to getting killed.

Ed looked up at Roy through his messy bangs, his eyes that shade of burnished gold Roy had never seen anywhere else. “I might have been a little rash,” he admitted, wincing.

“If Riza didn’t know you and like you as well as she does, you'd be dead, you know,” Roy said, the terror of the situation coming back to him. Most of his soldiers wouldn’t have tried to shoot through the wild alchemic reactions, but Riza was one of the best sharpshooters in Amestris She could have taken Ed down, probably was the only one capable of it. “You are basically a stranger here. You were gone long enough people don't recognize you as my ally. You attacked a Fuhrer. In public. You used alchemy around me. On me.” Roy closed his eyes, remembering the oppressive heat and the deafening roar of the conflagration he'd started. “If everyone watching hadn't been so overwhelmed by what was happening, you would have been shot before you even reached me.”

Roy was sure that the only reason Riza had hesitated was because she trusted Edward. She trusted both the Elric brothers, and her trust wasn’t easily won. Not anymore, not since Roy.

“In hindsight,” Ed said tiredly, uncurling his leg from under him, “it probably wasn’t the best thing to do.”

Roy did not snort (it was beneath him), but he wanted to. He ate more of the stew instead. The silence between them was different then, a little calmer.

He would order Ed to stay in his quarters, though, Roy decided. Not only was he unwilling to let Ed out of his sight after over two years of absence, he also wasn’t convinced Ed would be safe anywhere else in camp. Not after the stunt he pulled. Not given how people felt about him possibly ruining their chance to stop the war.

“You aren’t going to give me one of your lectures about how wrong and naive I am, are you?” Ed’s jab felt weak at best, his tone too calm for Roy to take it as an attack. He wondered what had happened to Ed to change him so much, or was it just that after restoring Alphonse he'd found enough freedom to deal with some of the trauma he'd suffered?

“I have no delusions. I know what you must think of what I did, what you must think of me,” Roy said, scraping his spoon over the bottom of the bowl. He felt both full and still hungry, the odd sensation disquieting. He was glad he'd finished the stew, so that the bitter taste flooding his mouth wouldn’t taint its savor.

“I felt it,” Ed said, his voice tight, a slight tremble in it. Roy heard disgust. Shock. Maybe even hatred. He tried not to listen too hard. “How far the transmutation reached, how it expanded. How far it could expand still.” Ed’s voice was evening out, low and full of emotion. “I should hate you so much for what you did,” he said, unknowingly echoing Riza from the day before.

“That implies you don’t,” Roy said roughly, too many emotions clogging his throat.

Ed sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to rest against one of the support beams of the hut. “No matter how idiotic it sounds, I trust you,” he said, sounding incredibly weary. “Even when you do shit like this, when you _kill_ ,” Ed’s voice was barely more than a rasp now, “I trust you.”

Roy said nothing, feeling as if he'd been punched hard right in the chest.

“Those people,” Edward said slowly, his eyes dark and angry. “They didn’t deserve to die, and they definitely didn’t deserve to be burned alive.” Ed’s hands curled into fists. “Most of them didn’t even choose to be soldiers. They were drafted.”

Roy nodded, accepting the truth of Ed's words. No, those soldiers on Drachma’s side hadn't been the ones to start the fight, nor did they deserve the death they'd gotten. The death he'd given them. “So were ours,” Roy pointed out quietly. “Drachma attacked to regain the territories Bradley took from them. I understand that. To a certain extent I even anticipated it, although I hoped they wouldn’t take that step. But Edward, I am not Bradley. I didn’t order our troops to attack Drachma all those years ago, I didn’t start this current conflict. Our soldiers didn’t start it either, most of them are conscriptions, too.” He pushed the empty bowl aside and picked up the nearly-empty can. “My responsibility is to my people first and foremost,” he went on after a moment. “I didn’t want to do this. I tried every diplomatic avenue possible before I decided to put Daybreak into action.” He shook his head, not sure whether he was trying to convince Ed or himself. “I swore to protect Amestris, and that's what I did.”

Ed’s eyes were dark and angry still, but Roy realized it wasn’t just anger. It was helplessness. “And it doesn’t hurt, I suppose," Ed said, "that after Drachma flies the white flag, which they will because you all but wiped the whole front clean of their army, you will be hailed a hero again. Aerugo will probably ask for a cease-fire too, once they get word of what happened here. I highly doubt they will want to experience a Daybreak of their own.” His voice was low and harsh. “You will be the unquestioned hero, a man who single-handedly won two wars.”

Roy said nothing, just finished the last of the cloyingly sweet drink and set the empty can aside.

“In one fell swoop you not only defeat Amestris's enemies, you convert most of Bradley’s supporters and make the rest look like lunatics. You will basically be untouchable after this,” Edward finished bitterly.

“Yes,” Roy admitted. Ed had already seen him at his worst, seen him kill, seen him scheme, seen him drunk and miserable. Roy doubted there was anything that could drive Ed’s opinion of him any lower than it already was. “I won’t have to worry about any opposition for a good long while. And that is why I will be able to introduce changes to our governing system much more easily." Ed narrowed his eyes, evidently listening closely. "People are resistant to change. They got used to a military government. Look what happened after Bradley was revealed to be a homunculus, after the reveal of the plan to sacrifice Amestris to their ritual.” Roy smiled bitterly. “They still chose a military man to lead them.”

“Nothing is ever straightforward with you, is it?” Edward said, tilting his head and watching Roy from the corner of his eye.

“You knew that,” Roy said quietly. “You always knew that.” Riza didn’t -- in fact, many people Roy had met over the years believed him to be something else completely. Riza didn’t know Roy when she met him, couldn't have, because back then Roy hadn't known himself yet.

But Ed knew. He had sensed the truth about Roy from the moment they met. Roy always felt that those sharp golden eyes saw right through him.

Ed said nothing and Roy sighed. At this point nothing was probably better than something, and he really needed to sleep. He needed to show up in the camp around evening mess.

He stood up, his knees worryingly soft. It took all his willpower to walk without stumbling, but he managed.

His quarters were just three rooms. The one with the map and chairs for visitors, the bedroom that consisted only of a bed, a chest of clothes, a small desk and a single chair, and a tiny bathroom, cold as hell, with portable toilet and shower.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep.” Roy wasn’t sure he'd be able to fall asleep with the stink of fire and ash thick in his nostrils, but even lying down should help. “There are a few books in there,” he waved at the sparse shelves above the map, where the alchemists who had worked out the plan with him had left a few interesting books. “Don’t leave without escort -- and that _is_ an order, Fullmetal.”

Ed responded with a growl, and ostentatiously didn’t salute as Roy made his slow way to the bedroom.

He wanted to stay and talk, wanted to find out what Edward had been doing for the last few years, what he learned, what caused the falling out with Alphonse. He wanted to know _Ed_ again. But he had responsibilities now and he wasn’t in any condition to push things. Not with so many lives on the line.

In the tiny bedroom Roy stoked the fire in the portable furnace, snapping his fingers to make the fresh logs catch quicker. As the flames (so quiet, so tame by comparison!) flickered higher he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. His sleep clothes -- soft, thick pants and a thin sweater -- were folded neatly in the chest beside the bed. He pulled them out and heard footsteps as he closed the lid.

Ed wandered in, hands in his pockets, and he looked around the spartan furnishings, a frown on his face.

Roy sat down at the edge of his bed and leaned down to unlace his boots, keeping one eye on Ed as he leaned against the small desk, hands still firmly in his pockets. Roy found it sad that he couldn’t read Edward right then, emotions in his eyes too foreign after so long apart.

“I slept with Winry,” Edward said after a moment, his eyes on Roy.

Roy didn’t let himself react, his fingers steady on the laces of his military issue boots. It made sense. It was what he'd expected.

“No comment?” Edward said, his legs braced against the floor. He leaned his upper body towards Roy, the messy braid falling forward over his shoulder.

“It was always obvious how much she loved you,” Roy said, relieved at the steadiness of his voice. He wasn’t jealous, he'd always known Ed wouldn’t be his. Not long term. And whatever short term fantasies he'd entertained, those were dashed years ago. Besides, there was something comforting in knowing Ed was with somebody who loved him as much as Winry Rockbell did.

“Yeah, well, it was a fucking bad idea.” Ed hunched into himself, the aggression leaching out of his posture. He looked confused and unhappy.

Roy ached to wipe those emotions away, but he knew his touch wouldn't be welcome. “I wondered what happened between you and Alphonse,” he said slowly, pieces falling into place. Ed, the older brother, the one that had grown up to be handsome, famous and talented. It made sense that Miss Rockbell would turn her attention towards him, especially at her age. Alphonse had been a suit of armor for most of their puberty, delegated to the role of sidekick because of his circumstances. It wasn't much of a reach to imagine him falling in love with their childhood friend. And maybe Roy was wrong. He was absolutely sure Edward loved Winry, but maybe he wasn’t _in love_ with her? Yes, that would have made Alphonse angry, Ed sleeping casually with the girl Al was in love with.

“He beat the shit out of me, I ran,” Ed shrugged, shoulders still hunched protectively. “Then we made up. Winry is a little strange with me still,” he added.

Roy pulled off the first boot, shivering as his socked foot hit the cold floor. The thin carpet wasn’t helping much. “Running away after sleeping with somebody rarely ends well,” he murmured, focusing on the other boot. His hands ached, and the scars pulled unpleasantly when he did delicate work like writing or unlacing boots.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Ed snarled, awkwardness giving way to aggression, which subsided just as quickly into surliness. “It never seemed to bother _you_.”

Roy opened his mouth to answering the last part, and then the whole sentence caught up to him. Ed couldn’t mean… Roy knew he'd been inexperienced; by virtue of age alone, he couldn’t have had many partners. Not everybody was like Roy, not everybody got their sexual initiation at fourteen and could count their sexual partners in the high double digits by the time they hit twenty. Still, Ed had never hesitated for long, didn’t seem scared or even overly confused by what was going on. A little shy, maybe, but Roy had taken that as the normal nerves with a new partner and a general lack of confidence in that area, not as a mark of virginity.

“Edward,” he said, his throat going dry. He wouldn't have… oh hell, yes he would. He would still have gone for Ed, for his sharp, brilliant eyes, his bravery, his sheer strength, even if he'd known he was Ed’s first. But he would have done it differenltly. Made it better. He wouldn't have been so... selfish. “Ed, I’m --”

“Don’t say it,” Ed snarled, his eyes narrowed. “No fucking apologies.” He looked away, suddenly apparently incredibly interested in one of the support beams. “You gave me more than I wanted.” he went on after a moment. “All I could reasonably handle at that time, anyway.”

“I was drunk every time,” Roy said guiltily, poleaxed by the revelation, by how much damage he could have done to Ed, who simply didn't know any better at the time.

Ed wasn’t looking at him, but by the way he rolled his eyes, Roy wasn’t all that convinced he didn’t see the back of his head. “And thank God for that, because I honestly don’t think I could have handled you sober.” Ed’s face softened and he looked at Roy from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

Roy felt his face warm up. It was the most backhanded compliment he'd ever gotten from a lover, ex or not, and yet it made him feel fluttery and shyly pleased in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. He pulled off the other boot. Ed kept looking at him with curiously intense expression.

“How did you regain your eyesight?” he asked after a long pause. “The Gate doesn’t give things back easily.”

Roy lined up the boots neatly under his bed, then pulled off his gloves and laid them on top of the chest. The scars were starkly pale on his cold hands and he rubbed them absently, remembering how badly it had hurt when Bradley stabbed him.

“The Philosopher’s Stone, one of the ones Father didn’t manage to use up during the fight. I healed Havoc’s legs and my eyes,” he said calmly. Ed’s eyes were sharp and knowing as they fixed on his face. He knew what it meant to face the Gate, how terrifying it must have been to see it again, to confront the being that had ripped so much away from them already.

“I figured.” Ed nodded, his eyes fixed on the scars on Roy’s palms.

Roy stood up and shed his uniform jacket, laying it on top of the chest. Without the thick wool he felt immediately cold, only the thin shirt protecting him from the chill in the air. “After you and Alphonse were gone,” he said without thinking, maybe wanting to offer Ed something about himself, or maybe just trading jabs, “Riza and I attempted a relationship.”

Ed’s face went through a series of expressions displaying a whole range of emotions, most of them bad, before settling into a mild scowl.“That sounds like a horrifically bad idea,” he said after a moment.

Roy huffed out a laugh because yes, yes it was. “Very bad,” he agreed, fumbling with the fastenings of the jacket. “I love her, but we are not meant to be together.”

Ed nodded seriously. Then he got up and came closer. “Let me,” he muttered, carefully not meeting Roy's eyes. He slapped Roy’s hands away from the buttons and started undoing them for him, his fingers working the tiny things much faster than Roy could.

This close Roy could smell the scent of him, could feel his presence with every one of his senses. “Edward,” he said softly, unsure and wrongfooted by Ed’s swings in behavior. He was on the attack one moment and then reaching out the next.

“I slept with Ling,” Ed said, still not looking at Roy, focussed strictly on unbuttoning Roy’s shirt for him. “After I left Alphonse.”

It took Roy an embarrassingly long moment to connect ‘Ling’ to ‘Ling Yao’ the fucking Emperor of Xing.

While Ed's mention of Miss Rockbell wasn't unexpected and didn’t affect Roy much, the ache of that already long familiar, this second revelation made briefly him see red. Ed deserved better than that scheming bastard. Ed was an incredible man, brilliant and strong, driven in ways Roy understood on a fundamental level. He deserved somebody who would love him and give him all of his attention, and Ling definitely wasn’t that, what with being part of a dynasty and expected to provide heirs and all that. To Ling, Ed would never be anything but a dirty little secret, and Ed deserved so much more than that.

When he looked down, he saw that Ed was watching him, fingers paused on the last button. His eyes were like liquid gold, luminous and sharp, burning Roy.

“Did you love him?” Roy asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Ed finished the last button and looked down at Roy’s chest. He licked his lips. “He infuriated me,” he said, pushing the lapels of Roy’s shirt open.

Roy could tell Ed was looking at the wide, gnarled scarring that covered his left side. It was unfair. Roy was the one who infuriated Ed, Roy was the one who could push his buttons. Roy was the one Ed looked at with those liquid gold eyes, and it hurt to think Ed had found somebody to replace Roy in that role.

“Why did you come back?” Roy asked, trying to stop thinking of Ling, young, handsome and powerful Ling.

“You didn’t so much as blink when I told you about Winry,” Ed said, looking at him curiously. “But the moment I mention Ling you're ready to burn him to a crisp.”

“I have no intentions towards Emperor Yao,” Roy said, his voice as cold as he could make it. “Why come and find me? If it was war that brought you here, you could have stayed with your brother.”

“Are you jealous of Ling because he is a man?” Ed asked, almost idly, devoid of either shyness or anger.

“Of course I’m not,” Roy snapped, uncomfortably aware that the shortness of his answer betrayed the lie. “Answer the question, Edward.”

“Because I kept thinking of you when we were fucking,” he said with a fluid shrug. He reached inside Roy’s shirt to place his palm on the burn scar. “What is this?”

Roy exhaled, just barely managing to avoid flinching at Ed's touch. “Lust stabbed me. I was bleeding heavily. I had to cauterise the wound or I would have died.” He reached for Ed’s hand and moved it to the other side of the scar, where there was less nerve damage. “I feel more on this side,” he said, deliberately softening his voice. If Ed wanted to play the seduction game, Roy could play that game better than anybody.

Ed let Roy move his hand, his fingers investigating the edges of the large scar where the damaged skin melted into healthy. “You didn’t heal the scars,” he said softly, his fingers trailing to another scar, a sharp little crescent that was a reminder from Ishval.

Roy thought of the white, blank space and the being that ripped his eyesight away from him, of the unnatural quiet and the terror of that place. “I didn’t want to overdo it, just fix what was broken.”

“And this?” Ed’s fingers circled the crescent-shaped scar and Roy shivered under the touch. “Ishval. Shrapnel from one of my own explosions.” He reached for Edward, letting his hand rest on the younger man's shoulder, feeling the firm muscle under the horrible coat. He dragged his fingers up to push the heavy rope of blond hair out of the way and caress Ed’s neck. “And yours?” He traced the hard tendon up to Ed’s ear, feeling how delicate the skin was there. This time it was Edward who shivered.

“Gone,” Ed said, his voice a little hoarse. “Like nothing ever happened.” He sounded angry, almost betrayed. Roy supposed he understood. Ed’s scars were a proof of his life, proof of his crimes as well as what he'd done to atone for them. Having them taken away, likely without his consent, had to feel like losing bits of himself.

“It doesn't matter. I remember them,” Roy said, working his thumb under the collar of Ed’s shirt and letting it rest just below the collarbone, where the metal plate used to be bolted on.

Ed’s breath hitched and he swayed closer, his eyes closing. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Roy’s chest.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Roy asked as gently as he knew how, running his fingers down the long rope of Ed’s braid. It was messy, half unravelled, but so familiar Roy felt his heart do a slow, painful flop.

“I want to touch you,” Ed murmured against his chest, his arm going around Roy's body, his hand spreading against Roy’s back. “I thought about it a lot,” he added, turning so that one golden eye glinted up at Roy.

“You realize I am about to fall over from exhaustion,” he said, not quite believing he was about to refuse sex with Ed. At least he assumed Ed meant sex. “I might not even get it up,” he said frankly, still stroking petting that amazing braid. “No matter how much I want to.” He wrapped his hand around Ed’s braid and tugged lightly, enough to pull Ed's head back so Roy could look into his face. “It won’t be good.” Because there was no way he was going to be able to take care of Edward, a comparatively rested and much younger man.

“I want it,” Ed insisted, his eyes golden and sure.

So Roy gave in, as he suspected he always would, whenever Ed asked for anything.

He didn’t let go of Ed’s braid, even when the younger man unbuckled his belt and pushed Roy’s pants and underwear down. He let himself be shoved backwards to sit on the edge of his bed, only then letting the long braid slither through his fingers. The memories that came back were like a tidal wave, crashing into him without hope of escape. His old flat in Central, the table with ugly gargoyles at the corners, Ed, quiet and decided, dropping to his knees between Roy’s legs... Roy licked his lips as Ed stripped off the brown abomination of a coat. He had just resolved to burn the thing the first moment Ed wasn’t looking, when he was distracted by the way Ed’s chest filled out his shirt and vest, well-defined muscles stretching the cheap cotton, flexing as he pulled off his jacket and threw it carelessly onto the floor.

“Vest too,” Roy said, watching with hungry eyes. He wanted to tell Ed to strip naked, but it was cold enough he didn’t want Ed to suffer.

He expected Ed to protest, or at least make some sarcastic comment about Roy being demanding again, but he didn't. His cheeks held just the faintest tinge of pink, and Roy remembered his offhand comment about orders. A trickle of pure heat travelled down his spine and curled in his groin as Ed obeyed and shed the vest. He nudged Roy’s legs apart a little more and then folded gracefully to his knees, both of his warm, human hands on Roy’s thighs.

Roy didn’t recognize their past encounters in the little kisses and bites Ed left on his thighs, sensitizing the skin, nor in the way he rubbed his face over Roy’s skin, his thighs, his belly, sucking at the wide expanse of the burn scar on his side. This was a hedonistic side of Ed that Roy had never seen, and he was briefly overtaken by pure, blind jealousy. Somebody had taught Edward this, taught him pleasure, someone who _wasn’t Roy_.

“Edward,” Roy managed to say, voice hoarse as he reached for that already messy braid and started unravelling what was left of it, wanting to feel the heavy silk of Ed’s hair running through his fingers.

Ed hummed, arching a little into Roy’s touch, like a cat wanting pets. He wrapped his hand around Roy’s cock, already half-hard, and bent down to lick it once before taking it into his mouth, and all of Roy’s thoughts scattered. If he was worried about getting it up for Ed, apparently that was not going to be a problem. Not when Ed’s mouth, hot and wet, was on him like he was starving for it. Roy pushed Ed’s messy bangs away from his face, wanting to see more of him, and groaned at the sight. Ed’s eyes were closed, his pale lashes fanning across his flushed cheeks, his wet lips stretched around Roy's cock.

“Fuck,” Roy shuddered, feeling his heart speeding up, the heat coiling tighter.

Ed’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils huge, and slanted his gaze up at Roy for a moment, something incandescent in his eyes. Then he closed them again and pulled back. The cold air hitting his wet cock made Roy hiss, his hand clenching tighter in Ed’s hair. This close he could see the shivers that wracked Ed at the sensation, and he tightened his fist again, eliciting a tiny moan from the man on his knees. Then Ed took a deep breath, shifted his grip on Roy’s cock and swallowed him down. Roy felt the moment the head of his cock hit the back of Ed’s throat, felt the younger man's reflexive flinch, and was about to make Ed pull back, when Ed swallowed convulsively and then Roy’s cock was sliding into that unbelievably tight, mobile throat. He could feel the walls constrict around him, could feel Ed taking him down to the root, his cold nose pressing into Roy’s belly. When he slid his hand towards Ed’s neck, wrapped it around his throat, he could feel his cock pushed at the thin walls from the inside.

Then Ed made a sound, his throat vibrated, or maybe it was just Roy losing the last few shreds of his sanity, as his eyes rolled back and he was coming, spasming, spurting come right down Ed’s throat. And Ed was moving, milking Roy’s orgasm from him, making it better, making it hotter.

Too much, too good, and Roy could feel himself fading, his body saying _no more_. With a brusque yank he pulled Ed up, high enough to kiss, to lick into his mouth and chase the traces of his own taste there. Ed kissed him back even as he pushed Roy down onto the bed, his body hot and heavy on top of him. Ed kissed him again and again, hungry and wet, until Roy’s memory shut off, sleep taking him as soon as his back hit the bed.

\---

Ed had read the same page of the book three times now. He'd found it on the shelf Roy had pointed out to him earlier, and it was actually interesting -- a treatise on the differences in carbon content of various metals and how that affected transmutations, including some brilliant calculations Ed hadn't seen before. So it was a double shame that he couldn’t focus on it the way it deserved.

With a sigh he put the book down. He got up and went to the doorway leading to Roy's minuscule bedroom. There were no doors, nothing to provide privacy. Ed wondered if the spartan conditions were intended to make Roy look, and perhaps feel, like one of the soldiers, or whether they were a form of punishment.

He leaned against the slender support beam, thinking that he could have made Roy a real fucking house instead of this ridiculous shack.

Roy was sleeping, the kind of deep sleep that spoke of utter exhaustion. Ed touched his lips, remembering how it had felt to kiss Roy, to touch his skin with his lips, his tongue. How it felt to suck him off, feel his hands tremble as they were clenched tight in his hair. How it felt to have Roy lose it in his mouth, hear the sounds that broke through the iron control, to swallow him down.

Ed wasn’t sure what he wanted from Roy, but when Roy had asked, Ed had realized he wanted -- needed -- to know if his memories were true, or exaggerated by fantasy and distance. He swallowed, still feeling the faint soreness from when Roy fucked his throat. He trailed his fingers down his throat, remembering the way Roy touched him there, feeling himself through Ed’s skin. He blushed and jerked his hand away, stuffing it into his pocket, embarrassed at how much the memory affected him.

He'd wanted to find out if his memories were true, and he'd learned that no, they weren’t. The reality outstripped the memory in the same way Roy's conflagration outstripped the flame of a candle. Touching Roy, being touched by him, even just _being_ with him, was so much better than any of his wildest fantasies. It was unfair, of course it was. But that was Roy, after all. Always stacking things in his favor, no matter how outrageous.

His vague plans exorcising Roy from his mind went down the drain in the few moments after meeting him again. Ed was still angry at Roy for what he'd done, even though he understood why. He would never have made that choice himself, but knowing Roy's reasons made it harder to condemn the man.

Roy was on his side, curled under the thick blankets, seeking heat. The whole place was damnably cold and it wasn’t helping Roy’s rest. A small part of him wanted to crawl into bed with Roy and wake him, see if he was up to more after a few hours of sleep, but the more rational part of him rejected the idea. He was still angry, and he had no idea what Roy wanted anymore. The old Roy had wanted to be Fuhrer, but the new one _was_ the Fuhrer.

Roy was different now. Not much, but enough for Ed to notice. It was like something was missing, but Ed couldn’t name what it was exactly.

Roy shifted in his sleep, burrowing even deeper under the covers and Ed cursed quietly. Then he pulled his hands from his pockets, clapped his hands soundlessly and knelt down.

Buried beneath the mud of the army camp and the layer of permanently frozen earth, Ed found wood. Old trees, probably, some roots, and what were likely the remnants of older buildings. He let the arrays he had in his mind take shape, destroying bonds between cells, pushing them up, towards the surface. He formed a thick layer of it under the structure, isolating it properly from the cold ground. Then he reconsidered and hollowed out the layer of wood, pushing air inside before closing the space. Air would make better insulation. Turning his attention to the walls, he pulled the liquified mass of wood up the walls and rearranged them, letting the cells take their natural shape before interrupting the array with another, cutting the newly forming trees into flat planks that covered the outside of the structure so tightly there wasn’t a single crack to let the heat escape. He wanted to add more isolation on the inside, but no matter how deep he pushed, the only fibers suitable for isolation were those already in use by the army.

He shored a little more into the roof, arranging the shingles carefully. While he did that he let another array unfurl in his head, stealing some of the discarded shells from artillery stands to make hinges and then shape a real door that fit itself into the opening of the new structure.

As a last touch, he added a few gargoyles to the corners of the roof. He couldn’t wait for Roy’s reaction when he saw them.

He got up just as the brand-new door was pulled open and Hawkeye stepped in, pinning Ed with her unamused gaze.

“Do you have a death wish, Edward?” she asked quietly, stepping into the room and opening her thick coat. Ed could already feel the room getting warmer. “Performing alchemy around the Fuhrer again?”

“This place was a dump,” he said, shrugging. “And he looks like death warmed over. The last thing he needs is to get sick.”

“He’s been very hard on himself lately,” she said with a small nod.

Ed eyed her short hair. He didn't like it at all. It made her look older and more tired. He stayed where he was, lounging in the doorway to Roy’s bedroom, not completely accidentally blocking Riza’s way.

She knew it, too, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to the dark, quiet room behind him. “He needs to make the rounds of the camp,” she said after a long moment, when Ed didn’t shift from his position.

“He's exhausted.” Ed had no idea what possessed him, why was he feeling so protective.

Riza nodded but didn’t back off. “He needs to show up, and he needs to look good, so people will think what he did was easy,” she said patiently. “We can’t afford to have rumours that this is as hard on him as it really is. People need to believe he can pull this stunt again if he needs to, as many times as he needs to.”

“You really think Drachma has enough soldiers to keep fighting this kind of war?” Ed snorted.

“No,” Riza admitted, “but Aerugo might, or any of our other neighbors. Amestris doesn’t really have good relationships with our bordering countries.”

Ed could feel the bitter taste coming back, the anger sparking again, and he pushed it back. He had no idea what he would do if Roy attempted a repeat performance. Drachma and Aerugo _had_ to surrender, because what might happen otherwise was simply unthinkable.

He stepped away from the doorway, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. Riza moved towards the bedroom, but paused when she pulled even with Ed.

“He's changed,” Ed said quietly.

Riza nodded. “I think he came back different from the Gate,” she said after a moment, her eyes on the sleeping figure.

“Different how?” Ed asked sharply, a thousand alarm bells ringing in his head.

Riza didn’t answer for a moment, just looked at Roy, and Ed wondered briefly which of them had ended their relationship. What exactly did she feel towards Roy?

“I think the Gate took more than his eyesight,” she said finally, very softly. “At first I thought it was just a result of everything that was happening, the insanity with the homunculi and the array… but after, when things got calmer, he was still that little bit off."

“Off?”

“A little colder, a little more ruthless.” Riza slanted her eyes towards Ed. “It was like his ability to… believe in the possibility of a happy ending, in the existence of good things, was gone. His ability to find joy in everyday things became…” She shook her head, struggling for words. “Less.”

“It might not have been the Gate,” Ed said, but he couldn't make himself sound convincing. The Gate delighted in taking the things one needed the most.

Riza shook her head slightly. “The timing seemed significant.”

Then she stepped into the room and woke the Fuhrer.

\---

Drachma capitulated at midnight. By then Amestris forces had shifted the front at least a hundred miles into Drachma territory, taking four big cities and meeting barely any resistance. It seemed the country was in a state of deep shock, their fighting spirit gone -- at least for now.

Aerugo asked for a ceasefire nine hours later, and sent an envoy requesting to open peace talks. Roy was on his feet for twenty hours straight before he was finally allowed to crash. Ed made it clear to Riza that he would transmute anyone who tried to wake him again before at least fifteen hours of sleep. She didn't argue, which he took to mean she too couldn't bear the dark circles under Roy’s eyes and the exhaustion in his face.

After that it was all a rush of activity, people around Roy every second of the day, talking non-stop and pushing mountains of reports at him, but finally things seemed to even out. Roy still refused to allow Ed to go anywhere without escort, but Ed felt surprisingly okay with that. What Riza said was still resting heavily on his mind, too many thoughts and feelings all jumbled up and chasing themselves around like cats and dogs. He needed time to think, to watch, and tagging along to meetings, hanging back pretending to read a book, seemed like a good idea.

People protested. Most of the brass in meetings with Roy either didn’t know Ed or knew him as Fullmetal, either of which (from their perspective) disqualified him from participating.

But Roy acted as if having Ed there, standing or sitting or walking a few paces behind, sometimes snorting at a particularly idiotic suggestion, was the most natural thing in the world, and people usually subsided. It was admittedly enjoyable, watching Roy from the sidelines when he was dazzling other people.

The first time Ed really started paying attention was during the meeting with the intelligence and alchemy corps. They were talking about housing for the troops that would have to be stationed at the front for the duration of the peace negotiations, and probably for a year or so after.

“A year,” Roy was saying, “is in no way an acceptable amount of time for semi-permanent housing to be built. I won’t have my people living in tents for a year.”

“We don't see any other way,” Anderson, the communications officer, said apologetically. “We could increase the number of engineers, but with the supply lines going straight through the Briggs Mountains, that won’t help. We simply don’t have any way to bring enough materials fast enough. To get them up sooner would mean the quality of the accommodations would have to be sacrificed.”

“Can’t the alchemy corps provide materials?” Roy turned to a scarred man on his left, a man Ed hadn’t seen before. He looked close to sixty, with a bushy mustache and glasses. Half his face looked like it had had a close encounter with Roy’s flames, the skin melted and one ear mostly gone. He had sat quietly for most of the meeting, thick folders resting on the desk in front of him. He'd come in with a young, brown haired woman whom Ed had assumed was his secretary.

“We can provide some,” the older man agreed. “But not in nearly the amounts required to build housing for all the troops right away.” He pulled out the thickest file from his pile and handed it to Roy. “Those are the arrays that came from Central. All of them would have to be used to build one structure. I talked with my people, but none of them has enough stamina to handle all of them, not to mention we still have no idea how to deal with having them be active simultaneously, or at least back to back.”

Roy opened the file, and Ed found he was leaning forward and craning his neck to get a look at the arrays. He was an alchemist, too, after all, and people came up with all sorts of awesome things all the time. Plus there was a small part of him that just wanted to see how someone managed to dumb down what, to Ed, was as natural as breathing.

Roy noticed. “You want to take a look, Fullmetal?” he said after riffling through a few of the pages.

Ed didn’t need to be invited twice. He was out of his chair and pulling the file out of Roy’s fingers in a heartbeat. He leaned on the table and started flipping through the papers, scanning the descriptions of the arrays. There were calculations included, each array fitted into a neat template that made Ed’s teeth ache. How horrible. The rigidness and standardization sucked the very life out of him.

He read the first one and snorted, then balled it up and threw it onto the floor. “You're better off not even trying this one,” he warned. The next one was okay, although Ed had his doubts about its efficiency. “Oh, whoever wrote these hates you all so much,” he said, yanking pages out of the folder and discarding them haphazardly.

“What’s wrong with them?” Interestingly, it was the young woman who spoke. Ed glanced at her shoulder. A major. Maybe she was an alchemist? He hadn't paid enough attention when she came in, and now she was sitting down so he couldn't see if she had a watch or not.

“With all due respect,” the older man said, looking at Roy, “is he even allowed to see those documents?”

“The Fullmetal Alchemist has been reinstated with the rank of Colonel,” Anderson filled in, a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

Wait, he was _what_ now?

Ed turned to glare at Roy, but the man looked unperturbed, just kept reading another report. “How could you?” he hissed, momentarily forgetting about the arrays.

Roy lifted his eyes from the document he was perusing, his eyes warmer than Ed expected. “Are you dissatisfied with your rank?” he asked, his voice honey sweet, and Ed immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “If so, I suppose I could swing another promotion.” Roy smiled a smile with too many teeth in it. “Or ten.”

Just the thought of the paperwork involved had Ed breaking out in cold sweat. “No,” he said faintly. “I’m good.”

“Thought so,” Roy murmured and even though he was clearly having fun at Ed’s expense, his eyes were still warm and Ed had to admit he liked the look on him.

“What’s wrong with the arrays, sir?” It was the major again, and Ed had to smile at her doggedness. She _had_ to be an alchemist.

“Well,” he said, picking up one of the discarded sheets. “The array itself is okay, if uninspired. It’s the equations that are all messed up. The energy input doesn’t equal the output, so if you try activating it you'll be left with a fuckload of undirected charge. And I can guarantee it will come back at you like a backlash from hell. Whoever tries this array won't be doing any more alchemy for a while.”

“Impossible! We had people check those arrays multiple times before we brought them for the Fuhrer’s perusal!” the old man protested, and even the major was looking a little mutinous, her brows drawn together in a fierce frown.

Ed sighed. People were so slow sometimes. “Look at the calculations. Whoever did them is using different measurements for every calculation, which makes it harder to see the flaws.” Ed put the array on the table and turned it so that the alchemists could see the calculations listed below it. He stabbed his fingers at the different measurements used. “Here, and here, and here...see? All you have to do is separate the input values, group them together by type, and multiply through a common denominator. Do the same for all the output values, and then do a quick ratio calculation. If you end up with anything other than one, the whole thing is busted.”

Ed had expected more of an argument, but the old guy just grunted, reached for his notebook and started tallying up the numbers. Ed looked at the major, she was doing the same thing.

It took them close to ten minutes, and to give them credit they even compared results with each other, before the old guy looked at Ed again.

“You are correct, Colonel. The measurements are clearly there to confound the issue, but those arrays are nowhere near balanced. Considering the scale they are supposed to be performed at, they could be deadly to any alchemist who tried performing them.” The man looked at his paper, then at Anderson. “Can we track down who created this particular array?”

“It won’t be fast,” Anderson said. “To avoid people getting too attached to their work, we group the analysts into teams and all their work is reported under their team number, not by name. But yes, we can track down who made this one.”

“And this,” Ed said, leafing through the other arrays and pulling out another sheet of calculations, and then two more. “Those, too.” Once he'd spotted the design of the first, it was easy to spot the same person's work among the rest. In the end he pulled out seven pages and handed them over to Anderson.

Then he noticed a really pretty array, all clean lines and efficient, detailed calculations. “This one is Al’s,” he said, feeling what was probably a sappy smile spread across his face. He slapped the page down in front of Roy, feeling stupidly proud of how beautiful the array was. “Look at it!” he said. “So elegant. He was always so good at details, you have no idea.”

Now that he knew some of these belonged to his brother, he riffled through the rest of the pages in a flurry, pulling some out and setting them aside. He could immediately see what his brother was trying to do, and while the arrays were amazing, he had serious doubts that anyone who hadn't gone through the Gate would able to pull them off. He found a cute little one, near the very end of the file.

“Do this one,” he said excitedly, dropping the page on top of the piled in front of Roy. “It’s brilliant!”

Roy blinked down at the paper, then frowned, tilting his head. “Ok, first,” Roy said, glancing up at Ed, a half smile curving his lips, “I have barely looked at the equations, much less learned them. Second, I don’t have any metal for materials.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Ed said impatiently. “The whole brilliance of this array is that you don't _have_ to know the calculations! The array itself is the calculation! It’s fucking brilliant. All you need to do is activate it, it will take care of itself.” Ed looked at the design delightedly. Fucking brilliant. Then he opened his coat and pulled out two of the throwing knives hidden in the inner lining. "Here."

Instantly Anderson was out of his chair, his gun out and pointed straight at Ed as his hand slapped the blades onto the table in front of Roy.

Ed blinked up at the cocked gun pointed at his head. “Uh...metal for the transmutation?” he said uncertainty. Then he looked down at Roy, who was rubbing his forehead, a tired expression on his face.

“Stand down, Anderson,” Roy said tiredly. “While Fullmetal hasn’t ever been properly introduced to the concept of survival, he isn’t about to kill me.”

“Riza must like you,” Ed said dryly. “You are hella fast with that thing.”

“Don’t pull out any weapons this close to the Fuhrer,” Anderson said firmly, holstering his gun. “Or one day somebody _will_ shoot you first and ask questions later.”

“So?” Ed turned back to Roy. “Do your thing,” he prodded the two knives, already helpfully placed on the array. “It’s going to be great. _Come on_.”

Roy didn’t roll his eyes -- Ed figured he would have to work much harder to make him do something as undignified in public. But he did that silent, huffing little thing that Ed knew meant he was amused.

He didn’t clap his hands. Instead he brought them together slowly, until the fingertips were just barely touching. Ed could feel the circle closing, could feel the sizzle of potential coming into existence. Roy lifted his eyes and looked at Ed as he brought his hand to the array.

It took Ed a moment to drag his eyes away from Roy's, from the challenge in them, the knowledge that Roy had just activated a totally unknown array purely on his say-so doing strange things to his insides.

When he did look down at the table, the transmutation energy was already fading, the sparks of light dissipating. Where there had been two knives, there was now a nice set of cutlery: a tablespoon, a fork, a knife, and a little teaspoon. They were perfectly made, shining and smooth, with delicate carvings of alchemical symbols at the ends.

Roy picked up the tablespoon, a mild frown on his face, and Ed could tell he was checking the composition of the metal.

“It's...changed.” Roy looked it over, sounding appropriately amazed.

“Yeah,” Ed breathed through his grin. “Must have knocked off some protons on the way.”

“Knocked off,” the girl said in a strangled voice.

“Anyway,” Ed said, taking the spoon away from Roy and clapping his hands. “I looked at the rest of the designs.” He put the spoon down with the rest of the cutlery and reached for the echoes of the last transmutation, the faintest traces of energy enough to retrace the steps. “I could build you your barracks,” he went on, letting the first stage of decomposition run, cutting through the atom connections before he activated the array he had memorised for the knives. They reformed nicely, sharp and shining on top of Roy’s paperwork. “What was I saying? Ah right. Barracks. I would have to test it, but If I can make five at once, there’s no reason I couldn't do more. I just need some materials for the non-obvious stuff, metals for hinges, lube, some glass would be good but I can use sand if push comes to shove and you don’t mind glass that isn’t completely see through. If there are trees I can use those for wood but if they aren’t close enough it would make it easier if you had some dumped in the vague area.”

“When?” Roy asked, that twinkle still in his eye, and Ed was starting to really consider the option that he was unwittingly taking part in some kind of game the man was playing.

Ed shrugged. He might suck at alkahestry but alchemy was his _thing_.

“Now?” Because he already saw the arrays and the calculations. He would probably remember them with perfect clarity for the rest of his life.

“Now is good,” Roy agreed, standing up. “I think there are more than a few very cold soldiers who would love the chance to move out of their tents.”

Ed just snorted, because Roy was clearly aiming for something here, and got up, tossing the folder onto the table.

“You can keep those, I don’t need them anymore,” he grinned at the man and followed Roy outside.

It was a nicer day than before. The clouds had finally dissipated and the setting sun cast everything in warmer hues, nearly chasing away the winter chill.

Roy didn’t take him far, just a few minutes walk, past the tents and the supply stores into a small clearing. The tree line had been thinned enough to provide security and visibility, but nobody had taken the time to clean the area of debris. There were some abandoned tools scattered about, broken pieces of machinery, and what looked to be a landfill in the corner, which worked perfectly in his favor.

“Give me some space,” he called to Roy, and the others who had followed them. Old guy and Major Girl were all but breathing down his back, and Anderson was pulling on a thick cap, the wuss. It wasn't as though Ed was going to take hours to do this.

He looked at Roy. The other man’s hands were in his coat pockets, wind hitting him from the back, making the long coat flap around him, pushing his hair into his eyes. A half smile curved his lips and he looked younger and more attractive than ever. Ed felt something hot and tight twist in his insides and had to look away before he made a fool of himself.

“I’m prepared to be amazed, Fullmetal,” he said, and Ed couldn’t decide if it was a challenge or a compliment.

Ed clapped his hands, grinned and slapped them onto the ground, letting the alchemic reaction unfurl rapidly in front of him, eating into the clearing, hungry for resources. Roy wanted a show, and by God but Ed was going to give him one.

He closed his eyes, pouring power into the reaction and activating arrays one on top of another, deconstructing everything starting with the top layer of soil, pushing the mass of loosely-held-together atoms aside to map out the dimensions of the first building. Even as the soil rose up in the first overlay, Ed was pushing more power into it, separating the materials into groups and then sections.

Five buildings. He let the stone rise up into the air, following the shape he'd given the array in his mind, wood crawling over it, filling in floors, door frames. He overlaid another array, the cables melting into stone even as yet another array began transmuting the steel into copper, shunting the electrons where he needed them. In no time at all he had a nice little secondary cluster of arrays going, transmuting the materials as he needed them, waiting only on his power to flow through his hands touching the ground. Wood was easy, it almost _wanted_ to be reshaped, growing in whatever direction and whatever shape he needed. Stone didn’t care, settling steady and hard into shapes he assigned. Metals were malleable, they all but jumped to attention when he overlaid them with an array. Alloys were harder, grumpy about the shapes he wanted them to take and requiring more force, but Ed had never lacked for power. Fucking glass was the problem. The arrays ate through the debris, consuming the bottles and other glassware in the trash heap, but that wasn’t enough. He had to go for quartz, but even going deep there wasn’t enough of it anywhere close. So he went outwards, to the sides, until he found something, enough silica minerals to make as much ugly-ass glass as he needed. He could feel the impurities bonded with the silica, it wouldn't be pretty. Briefly he wondered if it was worth the strain, but if he was going to show off, he was going to do it right. He let another array unfold, pushing the sand through the purification process before feeding it into the the glass prefabrication phase. It took more effort, but the bright side of the energy expense was that it got him a host of other materials he could use for things like the electric grid and the pipes. Fucking pipes, always a headache.

The whole clearing was glowing, blue sparks of energy dancing over the perfectly even ground, the building rising rapidly on both sides of the newly-created road (yeah, he'd done a road while he was at it, almost without noticing), falling off the power line poles, so bright he could see the light through his closed lids.

When he finally let the reaction go, he blinked his eyes open to see a row of neat, two-story buildings flanking a cobbled street, the buildings boasting blue window frames with gleaming, perfectly clear windows. The rooflines were angled enough that snow shouldn't be a problem, and Ed had made sure to add more wood to the walls to insulate it from the biting cold. Instead of the planned military cots he'd created sturdy wooden bedframes, although no mattresses because there weren't enough of the right kind of resources to make them. He dusted his hands off and stood up. The buildings were perfect, if horrifyingly boring, but that should please the military crowd.

When he turned back, he realized he'd gathered quite a crowd, beyond the usual retinue that seemed to follow Roy everywhere. People crowded around in a large half circle, as if not getting in front of Roy somehow made them invisible to him. A few had cameras raised and Ed immediately scowled at the idea of his picture being taken when he was working.

He turned to Roy, ready to complain. The sun was behind Roy, the wind flapping his dark coat forward and pushing his hair into his face, hiding his eyes. He made a striking figure, powerful but somehow lonely, standing firm against the elements.

“Is that it, Fullmetal?” Roy said in that slow, smooth drawl that immediately made Ed’s teeth gnash. “I have to be honest, it lacks a certain Elric flair.” Despite the critical words there was a grin playing around his lips.

Ed blinked twice, and then he caught the other man's meaning and he was grinning, clapping his hands loudly and turning back towards the brand spanking new barracks. He dropped to his knees with a grin so wide it felt like all his teeth were on display. The array was as familiar as breathing, spreading out rapidly, the blue crackle of the reaction rushing forward almost joyously as Ed pulled up a little more stone from the ground. Gargoyles sprouted from every roof corner, some readying themselves to jump down, some climbing up, others snarling, grinning, reaching down to grab at passing soldiers, each uglier than the next. Deciding it was go tacky or go home, Ed pulled up the gold ore he'd accidentally produced, a byproduct of the silica purification array. There was just enough to cover the prominent teeth of the monsters, as well as their claws and eyes, all of them sparkling in the setting sun and providing an unforgettable show.

Ed got up, grin still firmly in place and turned to face Roy, spreading his arms wide. “Happy now?”

Roy moved then, pulling his hands out of his pockets and coming towards Ed with long steps. When he was close enough that Ed could see the expression on his face, Ed froze. Roy’s eyes were hot, the black no longer cold and unreadable but burning with a fire Ed didn’t remember ever being ever directed straight at him.

“You are amazing,” Roy said, his voice low and smooth, carrying easily on the wind.

Then he was there, right in front of Ed, his gloved hands on either side of Ed’s face and he was _kissing_ him. His lips were dry and chapped, dragging against Ed’s own, cajoling the submission out of him. Ed tried to stop him, tried to remind Roy that there were people around them, staring, most probably taking pictures. But Roy was ignoring his mumbled words, his mouth and tongue insistent, and Ed’s thoughts scattered completely. Roy felt solid and hot against him, the rough spark cloth of his gloves dragging over Ed’s cheeks, his throat, kissing him like he was a starving man and Ed was a buffet waiting to be devoured.

Ed didn’t realize he'd put an arm around Roy’s neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss, his other arm snaking around Roy's waist, making sure Roy couldn’t escape him. When Roy let him up for air Ed's lips were chapped too, cheeks flushed and stinging both from excitement and the frigid wind. They were pressed hard against each other, and Ed firmly refused to imagine how that looked to the surrounding crowd.

“You bastard,” he said weakly, as he realized the flashes he could see through his closed eyelids weren’t just because of Roy’s kisses.

“Do you want to come back to my quarters?” Roy asked, dropping his hands to Ed’s hips, thumbs making small circles on Ed’s sides.

Ed licked his lips, tasting Roy on them, completely lost in the heat of Roy's eyes. “Yes, please.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some proper porn in this chapter! And other things too :)  
> I can now proudly announce that the story is fully written, just awaiting beta. If stars align I might be posting the last two chapters by the end of this week!
> 
> I had so much fun writing this story I couldn't find a way to actually end it for a long time. Can you imagine I planned for it to be no more than 15k long? Shows what i know, sigh.
> 
> If it wasn't for my personal cheerleader, misspaperjoker, none of this would have seen the light of day.

Roy caught the glance Edward sent his way as they entered his modified quarters. One eyebrow was raised and there was a challenge in his golden eyes, in the uptick of his mouth. Roy considered briefly trying to act like a civilized man, but he supposed it was tradition by now for him to be anything but.

He caught Edward by the right arm -- shockingly human -- and turned with him, pushing him against the nearest wall with a heavy thunk, kissing the grin right off his lips.

He was only vaguely aware of his guard squeaking some objection, and then the door slammed shut behind him. He was too busy using his height as an advantage, boxing Ed in, pinning him against the wall of his own design.

Kissing Edward was both familiar and different. There was a confidence to him now, in the way he opened up under Roy’s lips immediately, how he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, sucking Roy in deeper. His scent was different too, the metallic tingle gone and something warmer, deeper taking its place.

“I always regretted,” Roy said, dragging himself away from the kiss and sliding his lips over the chilled cheek, to the well formed ear, nosing away the strands of hair that escaped Edward’s braid. “That you fixed the wall,” he went on, thinking of that moment, of Ed braced against the wall, his breath loud and stuttering every time Roy pushed in deep. The memory of Ed’s scent, the taste of his sweat when he'd licked it off his back. “I wanted the marks you made to stay,” he whispered, right into the rapidly reddening ear. “I wanted to be able to look at them. To remember.”

“Fuck,” Edward breathed on a shuddery exhale, his voice low and rough, his hands yanking at Roy’s coat, pulling him closer.

“I thought about it a lot,” Roy said, his teeth investigating the curve of Ed’s ear. “About how you felt then...” He nudged Ed’s head back and licked a long, wet stripe over one of the beautifully defined tendons. “How you felt around me,” Oh God, had he thought about it. Late at night, when there was nobody to see, he would wrap his hand around his cock and remember. How easily Edward let himself be turned, the way his eyes looked when he watched Roy over his shoulder, the way his nostrils flared when Roy pushed his knees apart. How tight and hot he was, how he clenched around him when Roy bottomed out, the breathy sounds he made. Roy kissed his way down to Ed's shoulder, kissing unmarred skin, down to the hard jut of collarbone that didn't used to be there. So many changes, the metal replaced by flesh, new muscles stretching under that nearly flawless skin, and Roy had no idea how it tasted. He got as much of the new skin in his mouth as he could and sucked hard, gunning for a mark. He needed to know, needed to see and taste all the new things that made up Edward, and mark every single inch as his.

“Me too,” Edward whispered, one of his hands in Roy’s hair, fingers twisting tightly and pulling Roy closer, despite all the clothes that limited their reach. “I thought about it, too” he admitted, body undulating against Roy’s. “It drove me crazy.”

“Why?” Roy asked, going up to kiss Ed again, lick at his lips and do his best to wrap himself around him.

“Because I knew it couldn’t be as good as I remembered,” Edward said, almost angrily. “It was just my mind twisting the memories.”

Roy laughed, feeling both proud and giddy, maybe somewhat intimidated too. It didn’t matter if the memories were accurate or not -- he intended to give Edward a whole host of completely new ones.

Edward kissed him back, hungry and aggressive, making tiny little sounds in the back of his throat that brought Roy’s blood instantly to boiling. Then suddenly Ed was pushing him away, his hands on Roy’s shoulders, powerful muscles tensing.

“I’m not having sex in my socks again, much less my boots,” Ed said, keeping one hand raised between them to ward Roy off. “Strip.” He himself was already pulling his gloves off and shucking off the unbearably ugly brown coat off, leaving it crumpled on the floor without a care.

Roy spared a moment to hope somebody would throw it out, then he straightened and caught Ed’s eyes. “Really,” he purred, not breaking eye contact. He let himself think of Ed in the quiet hours of the night the last time they'd had sex, Edward sliding fearlessly between Roy’s knees, Edward clinging to Roy’s shoulders, shuddering madly as Roy pushed into him. The way his moist, trembling breath felt against Roy’s neck was something Roy would never be able to forget. He remembered it all and let Edward see it. Let him see the hunger, the _want_ that Roy had tried so hard for so long to keep under wraps. He let Edward see it all, gave it to him as a gift, used his own weakness as a weapon to bring Ed to his knees.

Ed stopped with his jacket halfway down his arms, eyes wide and fixed on Roy like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. Unlike Ed, Roy didn’t rush. He stretched the moment out, eyes always on Ed, slowly taking his gloves off, pulling them off one finger at a time. He folded them neatly and put them into his coat pocket. Then he unfastened his coat, one button at a time, hands ruthlessly steady as he let the heavy garment slide slowly off his shoulders.

Ed wanted him to strip, so Roy was going to fucking _strip_.

Ed’s eyes seemed to be fixated on Roy’s hands, so Roy obliged, taking his sweet time unwrapping the dark scarf from his neck, undoing the catches under his throat, sliding the heavily decorated fabric off and settling it on the back of the chair as he took one slow step after another further into the room. Ed followed him, his steps soft but his breathing loud. By the time Roy was reaching for the cuffs of his shirt he had backed all the way into his bedroom and Edward was making strained little sounds.

Roy smirked, looking at him from under his lashes. “What is it Edward?” he asked, letting Ed see the hunger twisting inside him, the desire that always woke when he had Ed’s golden body under his hands. “Afraid of getting more than you can handle?” He finished the cuff buttons and pulled his shirt off, stretching his shoulders more than was strictly necessary -- Ed's pupils were so huge they'd nearly swallowed up the gold of his eyes, and that was incentive enough to show off. It didn’t really matter if his body was especially beautiful or not. The girls and boys working at Madame’s Christmas had taught him very early on that it was confidence in one's body that was sexy, not the body itself.

Ed started to come up with some response, but Roy unbuckled his belt and began pulling it out, one belt loop at a time, making sure to tilt his head back just enough to show Ed more of his throat, and instead of a snappy retort he only managed a strangled little gasp.

“If you wanted to see me strip for you, all you had to do was ask,” Roy said, tossing the belt aside and undoing his pants. He left things there for a long moment, not pushing them down yet, because the way Ed’s eyes dropped, fixed on where the pants were just starting to gap open, was enough to spill more heat down his spine.

“Ungh,” was all Ed managed.

Roy sat down on the bed to unlace his boots and pull them off, making sure to stuff his socks inside. “If this is something you enjoy,” he purred, standing up and sliding off the last of his clothes, “I can definitely find a way to fill that particular need.” His cock was already stiff and aching in the confines of his underwear; taking them off felt good, even with the kiss of cold air that followed.

Naked, he sat down on the bed again, leaning back on his arms, letting his knees fall apart as they would, letting Ed watch his body as Roy watched the hunger in his eyes. “Weren’t you going to undress too?” he asked after a heartbeat, enjoying how much he wanted Ed, enjoying Ed's eyes on his body even more.

“You are such a bastard,” Edward said, shaking himself like a dog just come out of the water. His voice sounded low and raspy, his eyes dark.

“But you want me anyway,” Roy murmured, rolling his shoulders in half a shrug, drawing Ed’s eyes to the movement.

“Yeah,” Edward said slowly, swallowing thickly. “I do.”

“So undress for me,” Rou said, lowering his voice, making it smooth and soft. “I want to see you.”

Ed swallowed again, not intimidated -- Roy didn't think there was any power on this earth that could intimidate Edward Elric -- but there was something vulnerable to the way he blushed, the way his eyes slid away from Roy then.

Edward shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall wherever. It was nearly as ugly as his brown coat and Roy still couldn’t wrap his mind around the brown and beige, so completely at odds with Ed's explosive personality. Then he paused with the buttons on his shirt half undone.

“It’s not my body,” he said, not looking at Roy. “It’s…” he trailed off, finishing unbuttoning his shirt and jerking it off his shoulders in one angry move that threatened to rip the cotton.

Roy watched the rounded bulk of Edward’s shoulders, the play of muscles under smooth skin; he remembered the metal that used to be there, the scars and knotted tissue he'd tasted once. He could see that, beneath the miracle of having his flesh restored, there was trauma all over again. The Gate had taken Ed’s limbs without warning or pity the first time and it had restored him in a similarly uncaring way, overwriting his history and his self image with the casual carelessness of a god.

“The automail,” Ed said quietly, fiercely, “I earned that. I lived that. Good or bad, it was mine.” He shook his head, the muscles of his unfairly chiseled chest tensing as he threw the shirt away. “This isn’t mine.”

Roy remembered Ed sitting on his coffee table, talking about his automail, about how people were disgusted by it, the acceptance in his voice as he deemed himself unattractive. Now his body was restored, but he still carried that lack of self-acceptance like another kind of scar.

“It’s alright, Edward,” Roy said, straightening up and making sure to catch Ed’s golden eyes. “I'll make it mine, if you want. I can touch it, taste it, mark it so that there’s no doubt every inch of it is mine.”

Bodies were hard, were complicated, were one of humans the greatest weaknesses. Another thing he'd learned watching Chris’s girls work. One of the most vulnerable places in the human psyche was a person's self image, and Roy used that knowledge to tear down his opponents just as he used it to lift up his lovers. Edward was brave and golden, a brilliant mind and a truly good man. He didn’t deserve to carry the unearned guilt over his unexpected good fortune.

Edward’s eyes were wide, shocked at Roy’s bold suggestion, but his shoulders relaxed, the heavy tension delineating his muscles under his skin fading and leaving smooth planes behind. He straightened, his spark coming back, fighting doubt with that ridiculous bravery of his that broke Roy's heart to witness.

“Yeah,” Ed said, his eyes going to Roy’s again. “If you want.”

Roy's gaze slid over the wide stretch of Ed’s shoulders, the corded muscle, leaner than he remembered but also harder, the flat, firm belly, the light dusting of golden hair starting just above his waist. He let Ed see the heat that was burning in him, the fire in his blood, the need, the desire, to have, to taste, to possess every part of Edward. Roy let him see all that and then met his eyes directly.

“You have no idea,” he said quietly, tightly, “what I could do with a blanket permission like that.”

“Do your worst then,” Edward challenged, toeing his boots off. “Talk is easy.”

And there it was, the golden fire in his eyes as Edward cast the challenge back at him, always unafraid, always unbowed. Roy nodded, watching with hungry eyes as Ed undid his pants and pushed them down together with his underwear, finally as naked as Roy himself was.

His leg had been restored too, flesh and bone, not a single scar left to show where the prosthetics used to be. Barely any scars at all, really, and that must have been such an unnerving discovery.

“Oh Edward,” Roy murmured, thinking of all the ways he was going to leave Ed a sweaty, exhausted mess, too drained to even think of feeling like a stranger in his own skin anymore. “Come here,” he said and was surprised by the flush that darkened Ed’s cheeks at the mild command.

Edward came to him, bracing himself on Roy’s shoulders as he climbed up onto his lap, refusing to be cowed. Roy touched him then, finally getting to feel the smoothness of his skin on his hips, still so slim compared to the power of his frame. He hissed at the feel of smooth skin against his, Ed’s weight settling on his legs, body hot and finally _there_ after so many months of making do with memories.

Roy put his arms around Ed, letting his palms slide up his back to the end of the messy braid. He tugged off the band holding it together and ran his fingers through the silky strands to loosen the hair, feeling it fall to the small of Ed’s back, so much longer than it had been before. Roy got two fistfuls of it, warm and soft in his hands, and pulled enough to tilt Ed’s head back and give himself access to that beautiful, unmarked throat. He let his tongue and teeth follow the shape of Ed’s adam’s apple, sucking a vivid mark into the delicate skin there.

“Roy,” Ed gasped, pushing himself closer, hands sliding lower, tracing the shape of Roy’s back, fingers calloused and strong.

“I’m going to give you so many marks you'll have to swaddle yourself in that scarf to hide them all,” Roy promised, nibbling up the side of Ed’s neck, delighting in the little shivers and fast, panting breaths it elicited. “Everybody will know, Edward. Everybody.”

He gripped Edward’s hips and turned them both around on the bed, hoisting Ed's legs up and over as he did so, until Ed was on his back with Roy stretched over him. He pulled Edward’s arms up, mesmerised by the spill of golden hair on the pillows, and pinned them there. Ed’s eyes flashed -- the man was half feral at the best of times, and Roy had no illusions about his ability to truly pin Edward down by force. He could feel Ed’s arms flex against his hold, pushing briefly, and then the tension left his body completely. He was letting Roy do what he wanted, and the realization made Roy so hot he could barely stand it.

“Stay like this,” Roy said, licking his dry lips. “While I touch you.”

Ed swallowed, his adam’s apple working against the red mark Roy had left on his neck. Seeing that, Roy decided there weren’t enough of them on that amazing throat. He leaned down, still holding Ed’s wrists, letting Ed take his weight and kissed him. Just gentle little touches, barely brushing Ed’s lips, his cheek, nosing at his ear. He had all that golden skin at his disposal and by god he was going to get to know every inch again.

He released Ed’s wrists, enjoying the way he looked with his arms up over his head, the swell of his biceps inviting a bite. Roy bent his head, licked the underside of the right arm and bit gently at the exposed muscle, enjoying the pale teethmarks he left behind and the shocked little gasps it provoked from Ed.

Roy reached under the pillows, looking for the tube he kept there and when he felt it under his finger, he pulled it out, showing it to Edward with a grin. But Ed's reaction was not at all what he expected.

Ed lunged up, scowling, and grabbed his arm with bruising strength. “Who?” He didn’t growl, but his voice was clearly edging into that territory.

The curl of pleasure in Roy’s chest at the fire of possessiveness in Edward’s eyes was positively indecent, and Roy couldn’t help the slow smile that stretched his lips. “You,” he said, using his teeth to open the tube. “This made it easier to jerk off when I thought of how it felt to fuck you that night in my apartment, how you felt around me when you shuddered on my lap.”

“Fuck,” Ed cursed quietly, letting go of Roy’s forearm and giving him an apologetic little pat before awkwardly putting his arm back over his head. He was clearly unused to posing and adorably awkward at it. He was making an effort, though, and Roy felt that such good behavior should be rewarded.

“Yes,” Roy agreed, vague plans taking shape in his mind. “Many times, even,” he added, leaning down to fasten his mouth to that addictively attractive neck again. He'd already made a nice little line of marks on the right side, so now he went for the left, sucking on the sensitive skin there. Ed cursed and shivered under him, twitching restlessly but holding the position Roy had placed him in.

Roy kissed his way down, inhaling the new but still familiar scent, licking over the hard planes of Edward’s chest, sucking the left nipple until it got hard and sensitive, then switching to the right one. New, it seemed more responsive than the other, Ed hissing and twisting under him in reaction. Encouraged, Roy trailed a line of sucking kisses down the remembered path of the metal plate that had secured Ed’s automail. Having thoroughly investigated with his lips the flat, muscular plane of Ed's chest, Roy moved to the side, caressing the ribs that hadn't been there before, now alive and moving with every panting breath Ed took. Roy sucked harder there, leaving more marks on the new flesh, marking Edward just as he had promised. He settled more of his weight on Ed, pressing down with his body, and Ed moved beneath him, trying to mindlessly rut up against Roy’s belly.

By the time Roy made his way to that rapidly moving belly and bit around the hard ridges of muscle, Ed’s self-control was gone and his hands were groping eagerly at Roy, touching his shoulders, his back, dragging through his hair restlessly.

Roy stopped and lifted his head before he got anywhere near Ed’s cock, enjoying the loud groan that provoked. He sat up to assess the results of his efforts. Ed was flushed a darker pink now, the color stretching down his marked-up neck to his chest. There was a line of hickeys down his chest, on his ribs, down to his belly. His cock was hard and leaking, an attractive pink. Roy touched the hard thighs and Ed obligingly spread them enough for Roy to fit in between. He ran his hands up and down them, tickling the little hairs. He let his thumbs follow the hardness of the tendons on the inner side, higher and higher until he nearly -- but not quite -- touched Edward’s balls.

“You bastard,” Ed murmured, twisting under Roy's hands, watching him with eyes made of liquid gold. “Stop teasing me.”

Roy smiled at him, giddy and so enchanted he couldn’t even imagine looking this way at anyone but Ed. Something about Ed always cut through him like a knife, merciless yet beautiful.

“How many times can you come?” Roy asked, wrapping his hand around the new knee and pushing it up and out sideways, making Ed spread his legs wider, making the flush deeper.

“How many,” Ed repeated, blinking at him distractedly. “I don’t know? Twice? Three times?” He swallowed. “I’m not sure I like this line of questioning,” he added cautiously, and Roy couldn’t help the semi-evil grin that stretched his lips. He bent to lay down a line of sucking kisses on the inside of Ed's thigh, making sure to suck hard enough to leave a trail of marks behind. They would stay on Ed’s skin for days, he thought with great satisfaction.

Ed hissed, twisting under him again but not trying to get away, his hands alternating between clutching at the blankets and tangling in Roy’s hair.

“Let’s go for three, then,” Roy murmured against the sensitive skin. This close he could smell Ed’s scent all the more acutely, the sweat and musk of it. He wanted to rub his face into Ed's skin, wanted to cover himself with it and carry it with him always. Wanted to hold Ed and make him happy, wanted to make him cry and twist under him. Roy wanted so much, so badly, he could barely stand it all.

“Do I get a say in this?” Ed asked, sounding shaky, his hand clenching in Roy’s hair, probably making a mess of it.

Roy paused, considering, remembering. “Do you really want a say?” he asked eventually.

Ed opened his mouth and looked at Roy, then simply closed his eyes and turned his head away, letting his hair fall into his eyes. Roy had to close his too, the heat lashing through him near unbearable.

Roy pressed his hand to Ed’s belly and slowly, sensuously, dragged it down, over the burning skin, down to his cock, feeling the dampness there. “Open up for me,” Roy murmured, nudging Ed’s thighs apart again.

He licked his lips and took Ed’s cock into his mouth. The taste, the scent, so much more intense now. He hummed, wrapping his tongue around the swollen head, feeling its shape, Ed’s hands scrabbling at him again. Then he took a deep breath, focusing on relaxing, and pushed down, forcing Ed’s cock past the restriction of his throat and deeper. Ed gasped a choked-off curse, his words barely more than a mangled shout, and Roy braced himself against Ed's hip as he pulled up just enough to catch half a breath and pushed down again, taking all of Ed in. Ed was fighting to keep still, curling up over Roy, his hands grasping desperately at Roy’s back, his sides, curling around his shoulders, barely in control of himself but so careful not to push him down. Roy got his rhythm fast, controlling his breath, enjoying the way Ed’s cock stretched his throat and the desperate sounds he was wringing out of the younger man. Ed was too distracted to notice Roy reaching for the tube, slicking his fingers, and when Roy pushed the first finger into him his hips jerked hard, forcing his cock even deeper into Roy's mouth without care and he gasped out an apology, his hips stuttering as Roy did his best to suppress his gag reflex.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, trying to stroke Roy’s head, but his fine motor skills seemed shot to hell by what Roy was doing.

Roy remembered from before that Ed was sensitive to prostate stimulation. Not everyone was (Roy himself was not so much, to his great regret), but Edward reacted well. Roy pulled his finger out, added more lube and came back with two fingers, at the same time taking Ed's cock so deep that his nose was pressed to Ed’s belly.

“Oh fuck,” Ed choked out as Roy moved his fingers hard and fast against his prostate. “Fuck Roy, I can’t…” His voice was panicked and helpless, hands groping at Roy, whether pulling him closer or pushing him away Roy couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter, Ed’s whining, gasping sounds were exactly what he wanted, the tension so close to breaking Roy could all but hear it humming in the air like a high-voltage wire. He pressed deeper, took Ed to the root and swallowed hard, twice in rapid succession, fingers pushing hard at Ed’s prostate.

When Ed came, keening and clutching at Roy with ungentle fingers, Roy did his best to swallow him down, almost dizzy at the way it felt, Ed pulsing inside him, around him, spilling his pleasure at Roy’s touch.

“What...” Ed panted, his arm thrown over his eyes, as Roy pulled up, letting the softening cock slip out of his mouth. He gave it a little lick goodbye and then rubbed his cheek against the nearest knee. "The fuck..." Roy gave the inside of Ed's thigh another bite for good measure and Ed twitched against him, tightened on the fingers still inside him. “Was that,” Ed finished in a much higher tone of voice.

“A good beginning,” Roy murmured, enjoying the soreness of his throat. He nipped at the thigh again, enjoying the red and pink marks scattered on the vulnerable skin, how Ed’s muscles flinched at the touch.

Ed licked dry lips, lifting his arm to look at Roy. His eyes were dark and soft, the usual fearless determination replaced by the laziness of post-orgasm.

“Beginning,” he repeated, sounding breathless and also, hilariously, incensed. Roy adored how grumpy Ed could be in the most illogical situations. Like after a mind-blowing orgasm, apparently.

"Mm-hmm." Roy moved his fingers, circling them gently against Ed’s prostate to remind him they were not done yet, not anywhere close.

Ed gasped, twitched and tightened down hard on Roy’s fingers. “And you?” he said hoarsely, trying to get his body under control, unclenching around Roy’s fingers and breathing deeply for a moment, clearly riding out the sensations.

Roy watched him, held by the way his lips parted as he breathed, the way strands of hair clung to his sweaty skin. “Oh Edward,” he murmured, dropping another kiss on the heavily marked up thigh. “I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

Ed opened his mouth to say something, but Roy never gave him the chance. He slid another finger inside Ed, feeling the way his body gave into the pressure, hot and slick, taking three fingers more easily than Roy had expected. He felt a brief jolt of jealousy spark through his chest, thinking that somebody must have taught Ed this too, but let the thought go as soon as it came. Ed was in _his_ bed now, and that was all that mattered.

Roy smiled, bracing himself on his elbows to hover above Ed, looking down at him, at his flushed face and melted gold eyes. “Remember,” he whispered, “that night in my room, when I had you on my lap, clinging to me while you rode me?”

Ed’s eyes widened, pupils dilating. Roy hadn't known then that it was Ed’s first time having penetrative sex, but it was what Roy remembered when he missed Ed the most.

“I remember,” Ed said roughly, his hands going to Roy’s chest, fingers investigating every curve and every dip, seemingly as hungry for contact as Roy was. “I liked it,” he added, maybe remembering Roy’s dismay in finding out it was Ed’s first time.

“I want to do it again,” Roy said, leaning down so his lips were just above Ed’s. “I want to have you like that again.”

Ed closed his eyes, the blush that had just started to recede flooding back, staining his cheeks and neck. He licked his lips, knees shifting against Roy’s sides. “Yeah,” he said, voice going raspy. “Yeah, okay.”

Roy pulled his fingers out of Ed regretfully, already missing the tight clutch of his body. Then, gripping Ed's torso, he rolled them over so their positions were switched, Roy leaning his back against the headboard and Ed straddling him on still shaky legs.

He watched as Ed moved, enjoying the way his muscles shifted as he adjusted his position. He put his hands on Roy’s shoulders, steadying himself or maybe just mimicking that night. His long hair, loose and tousled, was everywhere, over his shoulders, down his back, in his face.

Unlike in his memory, Ed was watching him back now. His eyes were dark, hands sliding from Roy's shoulders the moment he was astride him.

“I wanted to touch you that night,” Ed murmured, running his calloused hands down Roy’s chest to his belly, spreading the fingers there and then lower to touch Roy’s cock. “You never gave me a chance.”

Roy had to close his eyes for a moment, the firm touch sparking his nerves on fire, pleasure shocking his system into stillness.

“You can do all the touching you want,” he promised, knowing he was lying. He couldn’t stand much of this and hope to stay in control, not when Edward’s fingers were hot and calloused, dragging perfectly over his skin. “Slick me up,” he said, pushing the tube at Ed.

Edward licked his lips, looking down at the tube. Then he was squeezing it, fearless as ever, and getting his fingers wet. Something about the request -- the order? -- sent his color up again. Roy wondered if it was the fact of being commanded or just the explicit nature of them that got Ed worked up.

Roy had to kiss Ed when he felt the other man's slick fingers around his cock, their smooth glide nearly unbearable. He lost himself in the kiss, in the taste of Ed’s mouth, the feel of his tongue sliding wetly against his, the sharp panting breaths Roy recognized as sounds of pleasure.

When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore he pushed Ed’s hands away, taking hold of his hips instead and pulling him closer and up.

“Why like this?” Ed asked, his arms around Roy’s neck, lifting up as directed. Roy could feel how his muscles flexed, how his thighs hardened, all that body Roy's to touch and enjoy.

“I want to watch you,” Roy said bluntly, eyes tracing every plane of Edward’s face, etching it into his memory.

Ed hissed as Roy pressed the tip of his cock against Ed’s slick hole, felt the tip catch against the soft flesh. Ed didn't need any direction this time: the moment he felt the contact he lowered himself slowly, deliciously, opening up and taking Roy in.

Roy was making sounds, he knew, but he didn't care. It was simply too good. Ed’s body heavy and compact in his arms, hot and slick and almost unbearably tight inside, enveloping his cock in vicious heat.

This time it was Ed that caught his lips as he bottomed out, when Roy was as deep as he could possibly go. Ed’s hands were on Roy’s face, his lips hungry and fierce, kissing him like there was going to be no tomorrow for them, like Roy was the only thing in his world. Roy rocked up and Ed broke the kiss, gasping into his mouth, arms closing tight around Roy’s shoulders.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, Roy rocking up into him, sharing breath and sounds. Ed was so hot and tight inside, rocking with him, pushing down when Roy thrust up into him, his thighs trembling from the effort. When Roy managed to work a hand between them he found Ed already hard again. He wrapped his hand around him and was rewarded by Ed tightening on him, pulling a gasp from him in turn.

“Roy,” Ed whispered, voice hoarse and eyes hazy with pleasure. “Roy, please.”

“I want to see you come for me,” Roy said, watching the expressions flicker across Ed’s face, the way he opened his mouth in pleasure, the flush in his cheeks, the sweat-damp hair. “Like this.” Roy added a little twist to how he was jerking Ed off, loving Ed's reaction to it, the gasp, the way he tightened and bore down on Roy. “While I watch you.”

Edward was glorious in his pleasure, muscles trembling and sweat beading on his skin. His hair was everywhere, a golden curtain around them, on Roy, sticking to their skin. The scent was of sex, of come and sweat, so thick Roy was sure his sheets would never stop smelling of Ed.

“You are gorgeous,” he whispered, locking his other arm around Ed and forcing a harsher, faster rhythm on them. Ed made a high, helpless sound, slumping against Roy suddenly. Roy jerked him off faster, in rhythm with the snap of his hips and felt Ed bite at the place where Roy's shoulder met his neck. Ed keened, high and helpless, clinging to Roy like a lifeline, and finally came, his body locking down hard on Roy, cock spilling hot come over Roy’s hand, body shuddering and jerking.

Roy held him through it, heart pounding, dizzy with desire and self-imposed frustration. As much as he wanted to come, wanted to spill himself into Ed, he also didn't want to let himself, didn't want it all to stop. He needed more, more of Ed, needed everything he could get to take and hoard for himself.

“Roy,” Ed moaned, finally able to do more than just keen wordlessly into Roy’s shoulder. He was limp and heavy against Roy, his ribs expanding and contracting with each harsh breath. “Roy, please,” he begged, moving a little, enough to bring attention to Roy’s hard cock buried deep inside him still.

“One more,” Roy murmured into the shell of Ed’s ear, licking the sweaty skin under it. “One more, Edward, okay?”

“Oh God,” Ed moaned.

"That wasn’t a _no_ ," Roy murmured. He licked his lips and took hold of Ed’s hips, lifting him up enough to allow his cock to slip free of that wet heat. Ed made an unholy noise, half a whine, half a gasp, and Roy had to pause and steady himself because he nearly came just from that, from hearing Ed this broken open and vulnerable.

He let himself touch Ed, the smooth globes of his firm ass, the wet hot place between his cheeks. He was very slick and a little swollen there, gasping and squirming when Roy ran the pads of his fingers over his hole.

“I want to fuck you,” Roy said helplessly, so lost in need that he couldn’t even think straight anymore. “I want to make you come again. I want to make you feel good.” He pushed two fingers inside Ed, making him moan high and desperate. “I want to make you cry,” he admitted, so lost in his desire he wasn’t even sure he was sane anymore. “At the same time if I can,” he added almost thoughtfully, finding Ed’s prostate and massaging it with firm, deliberate circles. The sound Ed made then wasn’t even human, as his fingers scratched deep grooves into Roy’s back.

“Always knew,” Ed panted into Roy’s shoulder, “you were a bastard.”

That wasn’t a _no_ , either.

Roy let them both fall back, flat onto the bed, mostly because he wasn’t sure he had enough strength to keep them upright anymore and also because he wanted to see Ed stretched out under him.

Ed cried out when Roy got him on his belly. Roy was briefly distracted by the sheer beauty of Ed’s back, the broad shoulders tapering to slim hips, the muscles flexing as he moved, his body flinching under Roy’s touch, the gleam of his flushed skin, the taste of sweat when Roy licked a teasing stripe down his spine.

When Roy slid a knee between Ed’s, Ed let him, spreading his legs and arching his back, giving himself up in ways Roy had never dreamed of.

Roy only just remembered to grab more lube, reminded by some last shred of sanity that hadn't yet been pushed out of his mind by the pure want that seemed to make up his entire world at this particular moment. He stretched out on top of Ed, letting him take his full weight, pressing him down into the bed, and slid into him with one smooth thrust. Ed screamed, the sheets muffling the sound, as his body tensed, clenching down so tight on Roy he thought he would lose it even before he managed to get all the way in.

“Oh God, Roy, I can’t,” Ed squirmed under him, hands scrambling to brace himself, shivers wracking his body. Roy lowered his head, licking at the nape of Ed’s neck, then biting it, closing his teeth tightly over the firm flesh. The sound Ed made then, breathy and high, defenseless, cut through him like a knife. Roy ground himself deeper, letting the pleasure swamp him, whiten his vision, envelop him completely. It felt so good, so incredible, he was sure he wasn’t going to last long. But he wanted to feel Ed lose it yet again, wanted to wring one more orgasm out of him, wanted to break Ed like Ed did to him without even trying.

He shifted back a little, enough to get his knees under him, dragging Ed’s hips with him, and went even deeper on the next thrust, wringing another helpless cry out of Ed. It wasn’t enough, nothing would ever be enough, but making Ed come again, like this, helpless and so far gone he didn’t have a shred of control left, would be enough to temporarily sate his hunger. Roy reached underneath Ed and found his half-hard cock, delicate and oversensitive. Ed cried out again, twitching and twisting under him at the touch. Roy dragged his lips over the sweaty shoulders, leaving more marks there, and moved his hand lower. He found the delicate weight of Ed’s balls, caressed them gently for a moment, listening to the ragged breathing, feeling the way Ed’s ribs expanded and contracted, then moved to his perineum. He pressed there, massaging hard even as he thrust deeper, harder, massaging Ed’s prostate from the outside and the inside at the same time.

Ed twisted and screamed into the sheets again, panting and straining against Roy, but his legs were still open, his back arched, giving Roy permission, access, trust, everything he would ever want. Roy wasn't sure how long it lasted, minutes or hours, an eternity locked in a moment. Everything was scent and taste, the sounds Ed made, the feeling of him under Roy, around Roy. When Ed came with a sob, shuddering violently and crying out Roy’s name, his cheeks wet with more than just sweat, Roy was mostly out of his mind. He kissed at whatever he could reach, Ed’s ear, his cheek, his shoulders, his eye, licking away every trace of salt, wanting everything of Ed’s, every sensation, every emotion. Ed’s body was fluttering around him, clenching and unclenching in waves, his breath stuttering in rhythm with the spasms. Roy moved his hand, taking hold of the jerking, not even fully hard cock, squeezing gently, giving Ed something more to milk his orgasm, pulling another helpless cry out of him and seemingly starting another wave of spasms, slickness of his come spilling over Roy’s hand.

Roy’s heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, pounding so hard he was deafened by the roar of his own blood in his ears. His whole body was on fire, every sense focused on the man underneath him, his taste, the scent of his sex, the way he felt clenching and fluttering around his cock, so good Roy felt like he was going to explode with it.

When he finally let himself go, allowed Ed’s aftershocks to push him over the edge, it was a nearly transcendent sensation. Pleasure like fire swept over him, wiping his mind of everything but Ed, washing his vision white and nearly stopping his breath. He spilled himself inside his lover, again and again, his body trying to wring itself out of every drop for Edward.

He came to sprawled bonelessly on top of Ed, face buried in Ed's neck, heart pounding a mile a minute, sweat cooling on his back. He was still inside Ed, softening rapidly but still very much in the grip of his incredible heat. He shifted enough to pull out carefully and Ed jerked under him, a gasping moan leaving his throat as they separated. Roy shushed him, sliding his hand down Ed’s side, feeling how heavily his lover was breathing.

“Edward,” he managed after a few attempts, his hand finding its way to Ed’s hip, then between his legs, feeling the rush of slick fluid that leaked out of Ed when he pulled out. “Edward, are you okay?”

“I’m alive,” Ed muttered after a long pause. “I think.” He didn’t sound entirely sure.

Roy couldn’t help it: he laughed. It earned him a weak elbow to the ribs, but he didn’t care. Still laughing, he pushed and nudged until he got them both rolled onto their sides, Ed’s back hot and sweaty against his chest, Roy's nose buried in the golden mess of Ed's hair.

They should talk, Roy knew. There were things left unsaid between them still, and he knew they wouldn’t be able to avoid them forever. But his body was sated, his mind still, and everything smelled like Edward and sex.

“We should clean up,” he murmured even as he was tugging one of the rumpled blankets over them. Ed was heavy and relaxed against him, his breathing slowing and evening out with every passing second.

“Nap first,” Ed slurred, sounding half asleep already.

Nap sounded rather nice Roy had to admit. He wrapped his arms around Edward and the blanket around them both, as much as he could, and let himself drift for a while, not fully asleep but sleep wasn’t something that came easy to Roy these days.

He roused himself after a while, his deeply ingrained need to make sure his lover was okay nagging at him, telling him to see to Edward even if the other man was deeply asleep and motionless in his arms.

Roy untangled himself from Ed, feeling warmer and more relaxed than he had in a very long time. He went to the tiny bathroom attached to the bedroom and immediately came back out the moment his feet touched the freezing cold wood. Back to the bedroom he pulled on a thick pair of socks, gathered some clothes, then braved the freezing bathroom again.

He ran miraculously unfrozen water into the basin and then thought of the array he’d been working on for the last little while. When enhancing his own arrays, his explosions, he often went for increased heat as a way to cause more damage. That had led him to study heat and temperature and the various methods of temperature manipulation. His go-to method was thermodynamic exchange, a natural side effect of fire. Recently he'd read some interesting things about kinetic energy and how an alternating current could affect matter. He touched his fingertips together, closing the circle and let the array come to the forefront of his mind. It was in essence an oscillating magnetic field that was supposed to affect his targeted matter. He put his hands on the edges of the metal basin and let the array activate. A low humming filled the room, a little uneven, the oscillation erratic as the array leaked power somewhere. But it did what it was supposed to: when Roy let the array go and dipped a tentative finger into the water, it was pleasantly hot.

Wasting no time, he pulled out a few washcloths. He used one to clean himself up and dressed rapidly before the cold air in the room managed to steal all his heat.

Then he soaked the remaining washcloths in the warm water, wrung them out a bit, and returned to the bedroom. Ed didn’t so much as twitch when Roy sat down at the edge of the bed and started unwrapping Edward from the blankets in which he was cocooned.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled groggily when Roy got the blankets halfway down.

“Edward,” Roy said quietly, loath to wake him up but also not wanting to find himself on the receiving end of Ed’s fighting instincts. “I’m trying to clean you up.”

Ed grumbled and smushed his face deeper into the pillow, one arm coming up to cover his face, very clearly trying to keep the noise out.

Roy shook his head at the unintelligible muttering that was most probably a string of obscenities emerging from the pillow. He finally got the blankets down enough to reach Ed’s belly with the warm washcloth, cleaning up the evidence of their sex. Edward twitched at Roy's touch and his breathing definitely hitched when Roy gently moved the warm, wet cloth over his soft cock.

“Bastard,” he muttered, his head now under the pillow, still bound and determined to stay asleep.

Roy couldn’t help but smile at how utterly grumpy Ed was with him. He kept working, but it was a bit like trying to catch a fish bare handed, with Ed trying to wriggle away and Roy trying to be careful as he cleaned up as much of him as he could get hold of. ThHeat, smug and heavy, coiled in his chest at the marks on Edward’s skin. The hickeys were darker now, tiny bruises ranging from dark pink to glaring purple, littered liberally over both sides of Ed’s neck, his shoulders, his chest, and ribs on the right side. The insides of his thighs were also littered with dozens of marks, and something very primal flipped over, pleased and sated, at the sight. He cleaned Ed’s thighs, wiping away the remnants of come and lube that were smeared there, then he changed the cloths and gently wiped between the cheeks of Ed’s ass.

“Such a fucking bastard.” Ed's words were slurring into each other but still clear.

Roy leaned down to kiss Ed’s shoulder, feeling how chilled the skin was there. He remembered the mess he made of Edward, the way he was so open, his hole wet and so very red when Roy pushed his thighs apart. The sound Ed made when Roy pushed into him again. Roy had to close his eyes, pressing his forehead against Ed’s arm, trying to compose himself, trying to swallow down the beast of a feeling unfurling in his chest.

“Cold,” Edward muttered crossly, head still under the pillow and goosebumps crawling up his side.

Roy pulled himself together, pushing the hungry thing back, locking it deep, letting the familiar patterns of control lash it down. “You can sleep now,” he murmured, pulling the blankets back up, tucking Edward in as tightly as he'd been before Roy unwrapped him.

Ed grumbled something uncomplimentary again curled tighter into the blankets. Roy watched the spill of golden hair and regretted they weren't in his own home back in Amestris, that Ed wasn’t curled up in his bed on the truly sinful satin sheets he'd bought for himself. He reached out a gentle finger to touch some of the strands when he heard the sound of his door opening.

Logically he knew no stranger would be allowed anywhere near his quarters, but he still reached for his gloves, pulling them on as he rose to see who it was.

Riza was setting out folders on the map table. She looked tired; her hat was off, her short hair uncombed and a little frizzy as she bent over the table, the cool blond catching the minimal light coming in the window. It was night outside. Roy had no idea how late it was, but the quiet of the camp suggested it was well after evening mess.

“You should rest,” he said, noting the dark shadows under her eyes.

“I brought you some food,” she said, for once forgetting the formality. Maybe it was the shock of what Roy had done, the guilt bridging the gap between them as nothing else could. She gestured towards a paper bag resting on the small table under the wall, beside the bottles of drink and carafes of tea and coffee, gone cold hours ago.

“Thank you,” he said, opening the bag and looking inside. There were freshly made sandwiches, wrapped in foil, and a couple of apples. More than was needed for one person, or even two people with moderate appetites.

“Permission to speak freely?” Riza turned toward him, standing parade straight and watching him carefully.

“After everything we have been through?” Roy pulled out one of the sandwiches, hunger gnawing at him now that he saw the food, and set it on the table. “You don’t ever have to ask permission for that.”

She nodded, and when he motioned to the chair opposite his, she sat down.

“You want one?” Roy asked, extending the sandwich to her. She looked at it consideringly before accepting it.

They unwrapped their food and ate quietly for a moment, Roy getting more hungry with every bite. Riza investigated hers carefully, sniffed it too, before taking a careful bite. She was always like that, careful and measured with her food. Not like Edward, who was liable to eat anything that didn’t run away fast enough.

“Why Edward?” she said finally, after a long moment.

Roy had known this conversation was coming; he was anything but subtle, after all, and even if one didn't count the public kisses or the guard that had seen them making out today, it was public knowledge that Edward was spending the night in Roy’s quarters.

“You knew I'm attracted to both sexes,” he hedged, unsure how much to tell her, how much she already knew.

Riza’s eyes were very clear as she shot him a hard look. “He can hardly be hardly counted as a _man_.”

Roy didn’t let himself flinch. “Are you willing to tell him that?” Roy asked, keeping his voice even. He didn't want to argue and he could understand her upset. “Are you seriously going to tell someone who's fought, killed, and sacrificed everything he was, who was willing to kill himself to save his brother, who ultimately saved us all, that he hasn't earned the right to be called a man? To be treated as an adult?”

Riza said nothing in response to his attack, her silence shaming him into lowering his eyes. She was not his enemy, she didn't deserve for him to strike at her with his words the way he did.

“I apologize,” he said, going back to his food. “That was uncalled for.”

“But true,” Riza sighed, taking another bite of her own food. “He was never really a child,” she admitted, her eyes lowered. “Not after the failed transmutation.”

Abruptly Roy was back in the study on that rainy night, seeing the fascinating yet horrifying array, the blood everywhere, wooden floors stained with gory splashes.

“The Gate took more than just his limbs and Alphonse’s body," he said quietly. "It took away their childhood too, robbing them of all that they might have had.” He'd spent years considering what he knew of the Gate and of the failed transmutation the Elric brothers never talked about. The pieces he'd managed to cobble together never made sense to him. Why Al's whole body and Edward’s leg for the soul of his mother, but only the arm for Alphonse’s soul? The calculations didn't add up, until it occurred to Roy that the price might be something more than just the physical. If you considered that the Gate took not just what was, but what could be, it made more sense. Alphonse’s soul for Edward’s childhood, for all the years he would lose, for the life forever tainted with guilt. Edward's emotional and psychological development had been both fast-tracked and stunted at the same. He grew up in a matter of days, shedding the innocence and happiness of childhood almost overnight, but he also never got a chance to learn who he was. He wasn’t given a chance to find himself, to grow into the boy and then the man he should have been. That was why he ran, after. That was why Roy had never expected him to come back.

“It took more than your sight from you too,” Riza said, watching him steadily.

Roy went very still. She'd hinted at this a few times, but she'd never once tried to confront him about it. He didn’t want to think about it, how it felt to stand in front of the enormous door, the creature with no shape leering at him with a grotesque grin. He dreamed sometimes of how it had felt to have it inside his head, rummaging through his mind, tearing at things, robbing him of things he couldn't even comprehend.

“Roy,” Riza said gently.

The kindness in her tone made Roy swallow hard, his throat tight. He didn’t like thinking of it, much less admitting it out loud. “Finish your food, Riza. You're working too hard, you need to take better care of yourself.” Roy finished his own in two bites, tasting nothing but knowing he wouldn't be able to eat if she asked the question he could read in her eyes.

She finished the last few bites, folded the leftover foil into a neat rectangle, and threw it into the small bin under the map table. And then, just when he thought the danger was past, she spoke. “What did it take from you Roy?”

Roy badly wanted a drink right then, wanted to hide from Riza’s gaze, from his memory, from the truth he'd carried inside him for two years now. A truth he'd never once voiced out loud, never shared. His own burden that he'd learned to live with, learned to work around. Just another disability, like his blindness used to be or his scarred hands were.

But Riza was looking at him with her patient, clear eyes. His oldest friend, his most loyal comrade. She forgave him when she didn’t have to, followed him when she could have had a life of her own, risked her life for him without a single word or question.

“Hope,” he said finally, letting her see him fully as he was now. A man who could calculate the odds, could stack the deck in his favor, could see a million and one ways to bring his plans to fruition. But also a man who could no longer hope for a happy ending, who could not hope that the situation could yet turn to his favor. “It took my ability to feel _hope_ , Riza.”

He looked at her briefly, a mere flicker of his eyes, but had to turn away. If she had been pale before, she was now white as a sheet, her hand covering her mouth, eyes filled with things he didn’t want from anybody, much less her.

He shrugged, the silence between them heavy and painful. “At least it made me more efficient. After all, if one can’t hope for good things to happen, one can’t be disappointed when they don’t.”

“Roy,” she said, and then she was out of her chair and kneeling in front of him, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “So, so sorry,” she choked out.

Roy closed his eyes, inhaling her familiar and much beloved scent. He loved her, as a friend, as a lover, as his guardian and his executioner. She was his freedom and his responsibility, their lives so deeply entwined that it didn’t matter if they ended up as lovers or no, because they would walk in step for the rest of their days regardless. He pushed his nose into the short hair, feeling it tickle his skin. “Don’t cry for me, Riza.” He pulled her closer and hugged her tight, wishing he had the power to erase this painful knowledge from her mind.

“I would never cry for you,” she said vehemently, and Roy smiled at the lie, treasuring the warmth of her embrace. It wasn’t so bad these days, with Edward sleeping in his bed and Riza back to how she used to be before Roy had fucked things up between them.

“I know,” he lied in turn, feeling her quiet laugh at his dishonesty.


	7. Chapter 7

Ed stared at his reflection in the tiny mirror in Roy’s freezing cold bathroom and had no idea if he should laugh or cry. His neck was more purple now than any other color, marks from Roy's lips clearly visible on both sides and the front as well, clustering around his adam’s apple. He blushed, remembering Roy’s dedication to marking him up.

He splashed his face with the freezing cold water and dragged his hands through his disheveled hair. He usually didn’t let it out of the braid, but the moment Roy could get his hands on it he immediately had to set it free.

He had no idea what time it was -- late, obviously -- but he was too hungry to sleep. If Roy hadn’t woken him up he probably would have slept until morning, but the moment he was halfway conscious his stomach started reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. He'd mostly lost his mind to his lust for a while there.

Cold chased him out of the bathroom, his knees still a little soft as he walked, the rest of him feeling definitely sore and well used. He licked his lips at the ache, the memory of what had caused his ass to feel like this. Roy was… Well, Roy was everything he'd promised to be. He had said Ed wouldn’t have the brain left to think about how odd this new body of his was, and he'd kept his word. Ed had been too busy trying to keep up to so much as remember his own name, much less think of inconsequential things like his limbs. Even now, after everything, Roy’s honest enjoyment, his desire for Ed’s body -- or rather, for Edward himself, since Roy seemed just as happy to go at Ed with automail as without it -- brought a flush to Ed'shis face. Clearly the prosthetics and the scars didn’t matter to how Roy saw him.

He crawled back under the covers and swaddled himself up to his ears, grumpy that Roy wasn’t there, and that they'd missed dinner and there would be no food until the morning mess. He eyed the store of drinks in the corner and decided anything room temperature was too damn cold to drink, considering how frigid the room currently was.

When Roy stepped back into the bedroom, the first thing Ed noticed were the gloves, shockingly white against his uniform pants, and the thick, high-necked sweater.

“Trouble?” he frowned, sitting up but still wrapped in his blankets. He wasn’t going to relinquish the heat if he didn’t have to.

Roy smiled at him, a small, gentle thing that caused something in Ed’s chest to flip over slowly. “Just Riza. She brought some reports for me.”

Ed growled quietly. Roy seemed to be buried under mountains of bureaucracy every second of the day and apparently night.

“Don’t be so grumpy,” Roy said, stepping closer to the bed and lifting up a brown paper bag for Edward to see. “She also brought food.”

Ed was out of his cocoon and ripping the bag out of Roy’s hands before the last word fully passed Roy’s lips. God, he was hungry. Starving, really. His stomach felt like it was trying to chew its way through his spine.

“She is my hero,” Ed mumbled with half a sandwich in his mouth, already unwrapping the next one.

“Careful now.” Roy went to the furnace and added some wood. Ed could feel the array embroidered on his gloves activating, the potential zinging across his nerves like fire. “Or I might get jealous.” He snapped his fingers and Ed sensed the nearly inaudible _fwump_ of reaction inside the furnace.

“I think I’m running out of neck for that,” Ed said dryly, between bites of sandwich. He watched as Roy fiddled with the furnace. His hair was falling into his face again, not yet combed to lie perfectly, and the shadows of the room hid his eyes. He still looked pale and a little tired. Ed guessed that he hadn't slept, not given how awake he looked now.

The heavy sweater he was wearing hid any marks Ed might have left on him. Ed found that slightly unfair: he was a literal roadmap of Roy’s possessiveness, while Roy looked nearly untouched by what had happened between them.

“You coming back?” Ed asked, going for another sandwich. His stomach was no longer trying to devour itself but his hunger was nowhere near satisfied yet.

Roy turned back, a half smile on his lips. “Is that an invitation?” Roy’s eyes, dark and soft, skimmed over Ed, noting the darkened marks all over his chest and shamelessly stopping at each one.

Ed nearly lost his grip on the sandwich.

The smile on Roy’s lips turned definitely more wicked, and his eyes were no longer just soft, the air between them warming up fast.

“You have got to be joking,” Ed said weakly. He was sore as hell, he looked like a victim of an assault, but the longer Roy looked at him as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away, the harder it was to think of a reason why another round wasn’t a good idea.

“Am I?” Roy was at the edge of the bed now, putting his knee on it and then crawling behind Edward. He pushed Ed’s hair aside and kissed the back of his neck, lips skimming cool and wet over the tender bitemark there.

Ed bit his lips against the shiver that ran through him at the touch. He looked down at his hands, the half sandwich he still held and the apples that had spilled out of the bag. It was ridiculous how much Roy’s touch affected him, how much the man's very presence made him want to at least try... Suddenly the soreness didn’t matter, the fact he really was running out of skin to mark didn’t mean anything. The only thing even partially stopping him was the persistent hunger, and that would be gone soon enough once his body caught up to all the food he'd stuffed into himself.

He wasn’t aware he was staring forlornly at his sandwich until he heard Roy chuckle behind him.

“Relax, Edward,” Roy said, his voice deep and rich with laughter. “I’m not going to come between you and your food.” Ed looked up to see Roy settling himself on his side, head resting on his curled fist, his eyes amused and warm. “I know my place.”

Ed rolled his eyes at the words and turned his focus back to his food. “All that alchemy takes it out of a person,” he grumbled, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt fingers on his hip, sliding down to his leg.

“Alchemy,” Roy agreed softly, his fingers curling over Ed’s thigh, fingertips finding the marks he'd left there just hours earlier.

Ed finished the sandwich in two bites and grabbed the apples before turning to Roy and crawling closer. It was warmer in the room, but nowhere near warm enough to sit naked. He lay down, head pillowed on Roy’s stomach, pulled the covers around him again, and bit into an apple, pleased with the way Roy shifted to accommodate him. One of his now gloveless hands came up to comb Ed's hair away from his face. Ed wrinkled his nose at this. His hair wasn’t in the best shape, between the travelling and the sex. He was definitely in need of a shower but the very idea of doing it in this cold made him want to shrivel up.

“Yes, you bastard, alchemy.” Ed insisted with fake bad temper. He hid his grin in another bite of apple as he felt Roy laugh again.

“Of course,” Roy murmured, his fingers now on Ed’s ear, going lower to the heavily marked up neck.

Ed finished the apple, looked at the core, and then ate that too, making Roy laugh again. “It’s lucky I’m a Fuhrer now, it means I can actually afford to feed you.”

Roy’s voice was smooth and deep, wrapping around Ed like rich velvet. Ed liked this, he realized. The quiet and calm of the night, Roy talking and joking, even the cheesy teasing. He started on another apple, enjoying the feeling of Roy touching his neck, trailing fingers down to his shoulder and back up. Eventually Roy’s fingers found Ed’s adam’s apple, pressing gently at the purple marks he'd left there, and Ed dropped the apple, sudden heat lashing through his belly and curling lazily in his groin, memories flashing behind his eyes.

He swallowed hard, trying to understand what the hell was going on with him. Yes, he knew he wanted Roy; all Roy had to do was look at him with that hunger in his eyes, and Ed would immediately consider losing his clothes. He wanted Roy. Had wanted him for a good few years, in fact. It should be old news by now. It shouldn’t affect him like this, not something as simple as this light touch.

“It’s called a subconscious trigger,” Roy murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on Ed’s skin.

“What?”

“I always touch you here when we have sex,” Roy said, his fingers moving in gentle circles around Ed’s adam’s apple. “Your body has learned to recognize this as a prelude to orgasm, so now just my touch is enough to shift your mindset to something more… suitable for what usually happens.”

Ed caught Roy’s hand and stopped its maddening movement. He turned to look at Roy, at his dark and hungry eyes, his face not quite open enough to read. “Why would you…” No, that wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. He knew _why_. “Normal people don’t think like that,” he said instead, struggling to understand just what Roy was trying to say here.

“People raised in brothels do,” Roy said, not even trying to fight Ed’s grip on his wrist.

Ed froze. He’d travelled enough, seen enough, to know just what it could mean to be _a child in a brothel_. He went cold so fast he almost got dizzy with it. “Roy,” he said, then faltered, realizing that he wouldn’t want to be asked for details if he was in Roy’s place.

“Relax.” Roy smiled, his eyes half lidded and very calm. “It wasn’t anything bad. My parents died in a car accident when I was four. I don’t remember them at all. My aunt took me in after their death and raised me. Her main source of income happened to be a bar, and the small but exclusive brothel she ran above it.”

Ed blinked and let himself relax slowly, the worst case scenario fading from his brain. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said cautiously, releasing Roy’s hand.

“It wasn’t. I knew I was loved. Chris isn’t the warmest person alive, but she was always clear about the fact she loved me.” Roy's face was soft with the memory. “She was busy, though, so I spent a lot of time around the girls who worked for her. They were a sort of a family to me, too, you see.” He smirked, his eyes sharpening on Ed again. “Everyone insisted on giving me proper _education_ , long before I got into the Academy.”

“That,” Ed said slowly, with feeling, wondering how many people knew this about Roy, “explains _so much_.” Because it did. So much. God, no wonder Ed was practically hypnotized, Roy playing him like a string instrument without any effort at all.

For some reason Ed's words made Roy laugh out loud. He moved and Ed yelped in protest as he fell off of Roy’s chest. But he didn’t have time to get a good grump going because Roy was already leaning over him, kissing him with soft, knowing lips. Ed sighed contentedly and returned the kiss, feeling oddly vulnerable with Roy so heavy and warm above him. There was something about Roy’s touch, his kisses, that made Ed lose his mind. He felt relaxed with Roy, yielding, which was a strange and terrifying sensation for him. This willingness to trust Roy, to let him push Ed to the brink of what he thought he could handle, was terrifying. The fact that he loved everything that happened, that Roy always read his unspoken wishes perfectly, was as unnerving as it was comforting. Even after that time in Kissel, after watching Roy kill for the first time, Ed hadn't been scared of him. He should have been. Roy was drunk and in a position of power over him... _and yet_. When Roy had shoved him against that wall, kissed him, Ed couldn’t think of anything other than how much he wanted Roy.

Roy pulled out of the kiss, his lips detouring over Ed’s eyes, licking over the eyelids before sliding towards Ed’s ear, his body slowly slotting itself against Ed’s. “I want you again,” he murmured low and velvet smooth into Ed’s ear.

Even knowing the words were a deliberate choice, a conscious repetition of the words he'd said to Ed years ago, even that didn’t stop the vicious spike of heat that surged through Ed. It was manipulation, but there was no separating Roy from the kind of person he was; Ed would just have to take him with his scheming, his ruthlessness, his unflinching loyalty. And if there was something deep inside him that liked the danger Roy represented, well, Ed wasn’t exactly a delicate flower either.

When Roy touched Ed's hip, and slid his hand lower, to Ed’s thigh, Ed let his knees fall apart. He kissed Roy, wet and deep, and helped him get his pants open, pushing them down past his hips and getting another little shock at finding him without underwear.

It hurt when Roy pushed into him again, slow and deep, but it wasn’t a bad kind of hurt. He liked it, liked Roy’s weight on top of him, his heavy breath, the scent of sweat and sex between them. He liked it even more when Roy was the one to lose it first, body tensing and jerking in those last few nearly brutal thrusts before he came. He loved holding Roy through that, loved watching the expression on his face, loved how it felt when Roy swelled up in him, when he ground in during that moment of unguarded pleasure, the sounds he made. Ed watched him, touched him, memorised how it felt having Roy pressing him down like this, around him, inside him, spilling his come into Ed. Although usually he was too far gone by that point to do anything but try to remember to breathe. Roy was unashamed in his pleasure, free and confident in it in a way that fascinated Ed.

For Ed's part, there was something unique in the way Roy could cover him and possess him. Nobody but Roy could do that, could _own_ Ed and have Ed want to _be owned_ in turn. Ed never exposed his throat like this to anybody but Roy, would never agree to carry so many marks for anyone else. He made Ed feel open and vulnerable, terrifyingly human, but paradoxically also safe. It was okay if Ed got overwhelmed, if he cried and gasped, squirming at the edge of oversensitivity. Roy hoarded those moments, greedy and hungry, he took everything Ed had and dug in for more, so clearly pleased with even the worst parts of him that Ed could barely stand it.

It was ironic that Ed had left his brother and his country to try to find out who he was, what he wanted from life -- only to discover that it was here, achy and sticky, pinned under Roy’s body, that he had finally found himself.

\---

It wasn’t like in the movies. There was no warning. No sound.

One moment Ed was walking behind Roy, Hawkeye handing Roy folder after folder as they approached the conference tent. The next moment Roy stumbled. Just once. Then he stopped, the folders fell from his hand, and he softly folded to his knees on the muddy ground.

Ed stared, frozen, not understanding.

“Roy!” Riza shouted, falling to her knees beside him, turning him over and yanking at his coat, the heavy black fabric so dark that the rapidly spreading stain of blood was nearly invisible until it began to stain the ground underneath crimson.

Shot.

_Roy was shot._

Then Ed was there beside him, knees hitting the ground so hard it jarred his teeth, hands slapping the ground and raising thick mud walls around them without his conscious thought .

Then he broke off the instinctive reaction, reaching desperately for that energy that never wanted to listen to him. The Dragon Pulse, the thing that powered Xingan alkahestry and the same thing that had always just fucking refused to cooperate with Ed for longer than a second.

He cut himself off from alchemic energy, from the thing that was as familiar to him as his own breath, and grasped instead for the thing that, most of the time, he just barely managed to sense. Slippery and oily, it kept escaping, running through his fingers. He refused to let it, pouring more of himself into it, pushing so hard something wet and painful wrenched in his chest, then pouring even more. If only five percent of the energy powered the reaction, then he was going to fucking choke it with how much he poured into it. Abruptly he pushed Riza aside, his hands reaching for Roy’s chest, the blood pouring out fast and thick through a hole terrifyingly high on his chest. He reached for every scrap of his knowledge, everything he knew about human anatomy, everything the masters in Xing had tried to teach him.

He felt the skin first, torn open, screaming at him with damage. Then the muscles, pulling away from the wound, flinching and contracting as the frantic electrical signals confused them. He reached deeper, ignoring the something wet and thick on his face, eyes blind to everything but the eerie green glow of alkahestry around them. Roy's bones felt static, brittle where the bullet had broken through them, pieces of the ribs shoved deeper into the already damaged flesh. Then, finally, the center of the array, the place where he could feel Roy’s energy leaving him like a river, flooding out of him in a senseless, cruel waste.

His heart, the upper right part of it damaged, tissues shredded, blood escaping its rightful place.

He poured more energy into the array, whether the Dragon Pulse or his own he had no idea, and he _didn’t care_ because he could feel it _working_. He was dimly aware of sounds around him, voices shouting, engines rumbling, but none of that mattered.

Cell by cell, he convinced Roy's body to use the energy he was pouring into it to rebuild, to add layer after layer of cells, patching up the hole in the heart. The new tissue was soft and fragile, Ed could tell, could feel how much he was rushing it, how desperately he was trying to force Roy’s body to fix itself. Bone and muscle pulling together, twitching and fighting him all the way.

The heart was working, painfully and irregularly, but it was beating, blood pushing through the arteries again, the dreadful outflow slowing as flesh knit itself together. The ribcage protecting the heart reconnected, slowly and reluctantly. Ed reached for the outer layer now, the gaping, screaming skin, knowing how it should be made whole, but when he tried to pour more power into the array, he found there was nothing more to give. The power, already slippery and uncooperative at the best of times, was dissipating, slipping through his fingers. He collapsed, gasping, cold and in pain, the green light of the reaction fading.

Roy’s face was very pale, his lips nearly bloodless. Ed couldn't tell if he was even breathing, didn’t know if he'd managed to do anything or if it had all just been a desperate fantasy. He didn’t have a chance to find out: he coughed, once, the coppery, thick taste of blood filling his mouth, and then darkness swallowed him, Riza’s voice the last thing he heard.

\---

Ed woke up to a familiar ceiling, a stand to one side of the bed holding bags of what looked like fluid and blood. When he followed the tubes with barely-focused eyes, he found they were attached to his arms, the needles taped down where they fed into his veins.

When he looked to the other side, the bed was empty.

He could hear voices in the other room, quiet but calm, but he couldn’t discern the words.

With a shaking hand he freed himself of the needles and sat up. He felt as if every single muscle in his body was threatening to riot, the ache seemingly going right down to his soul.

Roy wasn’t there.

He shifted to the edge of the bed, increasingly numb to the pain as it sank in: he couldn’t see any trace of Roy. There was no sign of anybody having slept beside him, not even the boots usually stored so very neatly under his bed.

Ed sat there, frozen, unblinking, unable to move a muscle, staring at nothing and remembering the waxy whiteness of Roy's face just before Ed passed out.

Then the voice in the other room subsided and Ed heard another one responding. Smooth as silk and low, the words a mere vibration in the air.

 _Roy_.

Roy was alive, and well enough to talk.

Ed closed his eyes as relief washed over him, wetness gathering and spilling over his cheeks. He bit down on a balled-up fist, trying to stifle the sobs that came unbidden, clogging his already painful chest.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, listening to the ebb and flow of the conversation in the other room, tears pouring down his face. Five minutes, ten, maybe half an hour. When at last the torrent passed he felt exhausted, wrung out in ways that defied explanation, but calmer. The jittery, desperate edge of squirming madness was gone now, replaced with exhaustion. He could deal with that. He could deal with anything, except a world where Roy had died in front of him.

It was another several minutes before he was steady enough to find Roy’s sleep sweater and pull it on. It was a little tight in the shoulders and too long on him, but it smelled of Roy and that was immeasurably comforting right then. He found his pants, inexplicably clean and folded on top of the desk. Socks and boots were next, helping to combat the fact that he felt both cold and vulnerable, shaky from emotion, from the sheer fear of thinking Roy was dead.

So suddenly, so easily. Just there one minute and gone the next.

Ed closed his eyes, breathed deeply for a few moments, then straightened up. He didn’t bother doing anything with his hair, letting it spill down his back in a tangled golden mess as he made his way to the other room.

There were almost too many people crowded into that room. Roy sat on a chair beside the map table, shirtless, the large burn scar glaringly exposed, his elbows resting on the table as an older man with a white armband cleaned around the wound on his back. It looked strangely bloodless, the skin pulling apart to gape like a jagged, hungry maw. He was very pale, his already naturally light skin looking disturbingly bloodless in the light of the lamps. Which seemed very odd, because Ed couldn’t possibly have been unconscious for long -- he'd spent enough time in hospitals when a little kid to know how his body felt after a long time in bed. Ed narrowed his eyes. Roy definitely looked skinnier, not just the minimal-to-begin-with layer of subdermal fat gone but some of his muscle definition too. Ed had had his mouth and hands all over that chest not long ago, he knew very well how it was supposed to look. Now he could see the faint outline of Roy’s ribs when he twitched each time the doctor pulled the thread through the flaps of skin as he stitched up the wound. It took Ed a moment to realize that the mostly-healed bruises and scratches on Roy’s back were the marks he himself had left there, his fingers digging hard when Roy pushed him over the edge. They were out in the open now for everyone to see, and Ed had no idea if he felt mortified or pleased by the fact everyone in that room could probably figure out where they came from.

Sitting on Roy's right was Riza, looking pale and worn, shuffling stacks of papers on the table. Then Anderson, looking the kind of jittery that comes from too much caffeine and sugar and very little sleep. Havoc was standing by the far wall, chewing on an unlit cigarette. The alchemist major from the earlier meeting was there too, her face intensely focused, as were a few other people, a few of whom Ed recognized from the meetings.

The moment he stepped into the room, every eye focused on him and the conversation stopped dead. He regretted not washing his face, and wondered if his little breakdown was visible to everybody. Of course that reminded him of his own throat, still bruised to hell and back. Quite a show the two of them were making. Ed sighed and decided he didn’t have the energy to care about people looking at his neck. Not when Roy was this pale, skinny shadow of himself.

He squared his shoulders. A life spent looking for a Philosopher’s Stone in increasingly dangerous places had taught him that attack was usually the best form of defence.

He glared at everybody, though he avoided looking at Roy directly, and stomped towards the small table set up with a pile of sandwiches and thermoses of what looked like coffee and tea. He picked up a sandwich, stuffing half of it into his mouth immediately, and picked up a mug.

“Edward,” Roy said. He sounded… Ed swallowed the bite he had in his mouth before it choked him and focused all his attention on pouring hot tea into the mug without spilling any. He wasn’t going to show how shaken he was.

He took his drink, the heat welcome to his cold hands, and sat down in the nearest chair, making sure to sprawl as insolently as possible and glaring at the room from under his tousled hair.

“How long was I unconscious?” he demanded, still avoiding Roy and looking at Riza instead.

“A little less than a day.” It was the doctor who answered, while his hands kept up their competent stitching. “Whatever you did to save the Fuhrer’s life, it shocked and exhausted your system enough that you stopped breathing. It was General Hawkeye’s quick thinking that saved your life. She kept breathing for you until paramedics arrived and stabilized you.”

“Alkahestry, wasn’t it, sir?” It was the alchemy girl, and fuck but Ed really needed to find a smooth way to ask her name. He was sure she must have been introduced before but he hadn't paid attention until the arrays. Also, he needed her to drop the "sir" immediately or he was going to break out in hives.

Ed nodded, closing his eyes and thinking back to how it had felt to pour everything he had into the array, and feel it still respond sluggishly, obstinately, fighting him every step of the way.

“I can barely use it at all.” He admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. “It felt like bench pressing an elephant.”

“Isn’t that how alchemy always feels, sir?” she said in surprise.

Ed barked out a mirthless laugh. “No. No, it _really_ doesn’t.”

“Edward,” Roy said again and Ed turned his eyes to his sandwich, wolfing it aggressively, barely chewing each bite before swallowing it down. He was hungry, no he was _ravenous_ \-- that was the only reason he couldn't look at Roy.

“You look like somebody starved you for a month,” he said in an offhand tone, eyes still on his food.

“We assume that’s a result of the forced healing,” the doctor said, his voice brusque. “From General Hawkeye’s account of being healed by alkahestry, it appears that when forced into such rapid healing, the body can’t produce new muscle and tissue fast enough. So, it uses what’s available, cannibalizing muscle and fat from undamaged areas of the body.”

“I lost weight too,” Riza added. “When Mei healed me.”

Ed nodded. It made sense. Something couldn’t be created out of nothing, materials had to come from somewhere, and losing some muscle mass and fat wasn’t much of a price to pay for staying alive.

“Edward,” Roy said for the third time, his voice still even and smooth but with a thread of impatience stealing in.

“Fuhrer Mustang, sir, if you would refrain from ripping out your stitches again, I would consider it a personal favor.” The doctor sounded uniquely irritated and Ed had to stifle a snicker. It seemed all doctors everywhere shared a similar temperament.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Roy said. “If you would all leave us for a minute, I would be very grateful.” It was said as politely as Roy ever spoke, but there was no mistaking the order in his words.

“Sir,” Riza said, mildly reproachful, but she got up even as she spoke.

“I will call you back in shortly,” Roy promised, voice smooth and even, without a shred of emotion.

Ed glared at the mug of tea with all he had. “You are really going to force it,” he said into his sandwich, ignoring all the people getting up and saluting as they left.

“Yes, Edward, I am.” Roy said in his best Fuhrer voice.

The quiet that settled between them after the last person shuffled out felt oppressive, an almost physical weight on Ed's shoulders. He kept his eyes on the ground.

“Edward,” Roy said, voice coming closer. Ed could see the tips of his boots now. “Look at me.”

Ed considered not doing it, considered briefly just digging his heels in and refusing to face Roy. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. He was a simple creature: if cornered he would fight, and both he and Roy knew that. He had no doubt Roy was going to push him into a corner until he snapped, because that’s what the bastard did. His sharp eyes found all the weaknesses, all the cracks and catalogued them somewhere in that twisted mind of his, to take out and use at his leisure.

He felt Roy looming over him, his hand unexpectedly grabbing Ed’s shoulder, and Ed snapped. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was out of his chair, his hand on Roy’s neck, shoving him backwards until his shoulders hit the nearest wall.

Roy's eyes were dark and terribly soft. “You really think you can convince me,” he said, his arms loose at his sides, head tilted back to let Ed get a better grip on his neck should he wish it, his vulnerability as much a weapon as his flames, “that you would hurt me after nearly killing yourself to save me?”

Whatever mad energy had possessed Ed was abruptly gone, Roy’s soft, ruthlessly knowing eyes stripping him of his every defense. He loosened his hand, letting it slide from Roy’s neck, to his chest, fingers edging towards the uneven line of stitches.

Roy’s lifted a hand to catch hold of Ed’s, pulling it to cover the pale pink and white bit of flesh criss-crossed with stitches. Ed could feel the ends of the thread tickling against his palm, the flesh itself raised and oddly hard to the touch. Roy’s palm came to rest over Ed’s, pressing it tighter to his body, to the proof of how very mortal Roy was.

“It’s just skin deep,” Roy said slowly, gently. “You healed everything but the skin. You'd even started on that before your body gave out on you.”

Ed wanted to ask if it hurt, but somehow the words weren't making it past his painfully tight throat.

“They say the sniper got me in the heart,” Roy continued. "Nobody could have saved me from that. Nobody but you.”

His hands dropped to Ed’s hips, pulling him closer inch by inch.

“Shut up,” Ed managed to rasp out, closing his eyes tightly against the image of crimson blood spilling over fresh snow and frozen mud, Roy’s lips bloodless and pale. “Shut up,” he said helplessly, stepping closer and pressing his face against Roy’s chest, trying to wash away the pictures in his head with the familiar scent. Roy’s skin felt cool and soft against him. Cool and soft and _alive_.

“You didn’t fail,” Roy said, as damnably softly as before. “You did what no one else could possibly have done.” Roy touched his hair, pushing it carefully away from his face. “You saved me.”

“You are such a bastard,” Ed whispered into Roy’s skin.

He could feel Roy's arms sliding around him, hands spreading out on his back, between his shoulder blades. Ed let himself be held, close, closer, and Roy rested his cheek on Ed’s head, locking him into the cage of his body tighter than any chains ever could.

“You inspire me to new heights every day.” He could hear the smile in Roy’s voice, the particular way his always-smooth voice warmed whenever he decided to be sappy at Edward.

Ed put his own arms around Roy, feeling the chill of the room setting into his skin, tracing the smattering of goosebumps on Roy's sides, gently touching the entrance wound in his back, so much smaller than the exit one on his chest.

“There was no warning,” Ed whispered. “One moment you were walking and the next everything was falling apart.” He pressed his face so hard into Roy’s chest that it made his nose hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Roy whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry for making you part of this.”

Ed sighed, squeezing Roy harder. “It’s not like I didn’t know what you were after.” The power, the country, the danger that came with it. Roy never apologized for his objectives, nor pretended that the first and foremost goal in his life wasn't to become the Fuhrer. He tried to imagine a different Roy, one happy to settle for some civilian job or a lower position in the military, and had to shake his head. That wouldn’t be Roy anymore, not the man whose ambition was such a big part of his personality.

“We haven’t really… talked about it,” Roy said carefully.

Ed felt a slight tugging on his hair and wondered what Roy was doing with it. “I don’t like to talk,” he hedged. After all, he'd spent two years running away so that he wouldn’t _have_ to talk about this, this horrifying, wriggling, _living_ thing that sparked to a flame in his chest whenever he so much as thought of Roy. But the farther he ran, the bigger it grew, threatening to hollow him out from the inside.

The war was just the kick in the ass he'd needed to come back now, instead of a few years later. The thing was, he'd always known he would come back sometime. He'd known he would have to. It was only now that he was here, seeing people look at Roy with respect bordering on reverence, that he realized he could have been too late. If Riza hadn't been strong enough to break it off with Roy, if he'd met somebody else, somebody more socially acceptable than a much younger, male, and very temperamental ex-State Alchemist, someone who could help him in his political career... Ed knew he himself would definitely not be a help; in fact, he would be lucky not to destroy Roy’s career completely.

“Color me shocked,” Roy said, the damned smile still very much present in his voice.

Ed growled, mostly for show and to make Roy laugh again, the vibrations travelling through his chest like tiny aftershocks. “I could destroy everything you've worked for,” he said seriously, pulling back to look at Roy, finally. “I’m as far from a politically acceptable wife as you can possibly get. Now political suicide, I am probably great for that.”

“I don’t know,” Roy murmured, his eyes dark and amused, secretive. “I think we make quite a nice power couple.”

Ed couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him at the ridiculous statement. “You really love playing with fire, don’t you?” He shook his head. This was such a bad idea. So fucking bad.

But Roy was smirking at him now. “It is a bit of a speciality of mine,” he admitted, smug as a cat. “Besides, don’t you think I can put the right spin on this and make you into the next darling of Amestris ?”

Ed bared his teeth. “Don’t you even try."

Roy’s eyebrows raised but the smirk didn’t quite leave his lips. “Too late now,” he purred, pleased as hell with something. “Apparently the picture of our kiss made it down to Central and straight to every single tabloid that exists.”

Ed blinked, his mind taking its sweet time to process the words, before the meaning sank in.

Tabloids.

 _Papers_.

Oh god, Al. Learning of this thing Ed had with Roy from _tabloids_.

Then Ed's heart sank even further.

 _Winry_ learning of this from tabloids.

“Oh god,” he said weakly, torn between the need to run for the nearest phone and the desperate desire to find a very dark hole to hide in for the foreseeable future.

“Relax,” Roy said, tugging gently on Ed’s hair. “The army already loves you, the brass is terrified of you, and the general public was always half in love with their Alchemist of the People anyway.” He smiled at Ed, warmer, more real, his eyes softening in a way that made that hungry thing in Ed’s chest surge up and howl. “It’s enough for me to work with.”

Then Roy was leaning closer, his lips connecting with Ed’s cheek, trailing slowly to the corner of his lips. “I woke up to Riza trying to resuscitate you,” he said against Ed’s lips. “I couldn't move, couldn't even speak. All I could do was watch her compress your chest, breathe her breath into you. I didn’t even know what had happened, if you were shot too, if I'd lost you again?”

“Roy...” Ed exhaled.

“You wouldn’t have liked my thoughts then, Edward,” Roy was barely kissing him, his lips just brushing Ed’s, light as a feather. “You wouldn’t have liked them at all.”

Ed thought of Roy standing in front of that horrifying conflagration, causing death and destruction on a mass scale. He thought of the look in Roy's eyes when he noticed Ed watching him in horror, the regret and, at the same time, the unshakeable dedication to his choice.

No, he didn't like it, would never like it, but he'd long ago accepted there were parts of Roy he hated and would never accept. Only none of that seemed to matter much to the hungry thing in his chest. None of it changed how Roy’s eyes following Ed’s every move with honest appreciation made Ed feel special and unique, made him feel like a beautiful thing.

“I never said I liked you,” Ed rasped, pushing closer, tilting his head to catch Roy’s lips, to end this teasing promise of a kiss with a proper one.

“No, you didn’t,” Roy agreed, letting Ed catch him.

His kiss was like fire, spilling into Ed and catching on the dry kindling of Ed’s desire. He wanted this, wanted to feel Roy’s hands on his skin, wanted his lips, his scent, proof of his life. They kissed like there was never going to be another chance, teeth dragging over delicate lips, tongues licking in deep, sharing breath between them. Roy’s hands were fisted tightly in his hair, keeping him close, not letting Ed move away from the kisses.

By the time Roy shifted his attention to Ed's neck, Ed was dizzy with the lack of air, panting as if he'd been running. He gave in easily when Roy pulled his head back, easier still when Roy’s lips and teeth went to his throat to suck a glaring mark into his skin. Everybody would know, everybody would see.

“I never took you for the possessive type,” Ed laughed as Roy made a valiant effort to fit a third mark onto Ed’s skin, his nose nudging Ed’s jaw up.

Roy pulled back, his lips red and swollen from the kissing. He looked amazingly handsome then, his hair a mess, his lips wet. He licked them and looked at Ed. His eyes were dark and half lidded, a fire burning deep in them, his gaze not letting Ed look away.

“You left once,” he said quietly, voice low and almost threatening in its smoothness. “Do you think I would make it easy a second time?”

_Oh._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor beta managed to get through the last chapter. I feel like she wont ever believe me again when I tell her I have a 'short' fic for her to beta.

The temperature was warmer away from the mountains. Within a few hours' drive the snow was gone and the grey, muddy ground turned into a lush green, with leafy trees stretching out between neatly cut fields.

Ed knew, deep in his bones, that he would never forget that drive through the burn zone. It felt like an eternity, the jeep bouncing on the uneven, hastily made road, everything in sight black and desolate, the ground burned to nothing but bare rock and the occasional pile of melted metal that was once a tank or maybe an artillery stand (it was hard to say, given how little was left). It was hard to remember that this place wasn't always a hellscape, that it had been green and alive before Roy happened to it. Somebody had removed the bodies of the soldiers, but they hadn't bothered with the animals.

It took close to two hours to get out of the blast zone. Even accounting for the slow speed of the convoy, with the tanks in front, the trucks with mounted artillery guns, the personnel transports, and jeeps, two hours meant thirty, forty, maybe fifty miles deep into Drachma territory.

Ed sat in the back of his jeep and didn’t say a word, just watched the apocalyptic landscape pass him by. Eventually the convoy left the strike zone, life coming back as suddenly as it had been cut out before. Pastures and clearly marked fields appeared on either side of the road instead of desolation, small farmhouses scattered here and there in the distance. He heard birds again.

He saw a few civilians walking along the road, staring at the convy with the kind of mute, shocked horror that Ed remembered feeling himself, eight years old and drawing a blood rune on a suit of armor. Roy’s plan had worked almost too well; the fighting spirit was truly broken in those that survived. Ed had expected more wounded, hospitals, something to show that there were survivors, but by the evening of the first day of travel it became very clear that there were barely any wounded. Ed saw no sign of fighting, and the checkpoints they passed were small and relaxed in a way that suggested the soldiers hadn't seen any fighting recently, and didn't expect any.

By sundown they reached their resting point, hastily built structures glaringly alien next to the small town the road just barely avoided cutting through. The houses were no more than two stories and cheerfully colorful, blues and yellows everywhere, flowers and other plant motifs painted on whitewashed walls, while the camp was all dark greens and browns, dull and depressing in comparison and inappropriately large. There were probably close to a thousand soldiers there, marching, eating, lounging, scrambling in a frenzy around the constant influx of trucks coming in and going out, driving out on the road heading deeper west towards the front proper. The Amestris army was nothing if not experienced, having led wars on every single border the country possessed. Once Roy’s flames had cut the army at the front line, the traditional forces had gone as deep into the defenseless country as possible.

This town was the first sign of civilization, but Ed knew it was only the beginning. Amestris had captured four big cities before Drachma capitulated, essentially taking hundreds of thousands of people hostage. Ed knew Roy wasn't going to keep the cities that had been taken during Operation Daybreak -- he was planning to use them as bargaining chips, eventually the territory would be returned to Drachma. His goal wasn’t to conquer, it was to destroy their will to fight. Looking at the shell shocked civilians on the outskirts of the camp, Ed thought grimly that Roy had succeeded admirably.

Eventually they came to a stop near the center of the camp. “Sir,” said his terrified driver (a skinny kid introduced to him as Major Fawkes) as Ed stepped out of the jeep, “would you like your meal to be taken to your quarters or will you be using the mess?”

It took Ed a moment to realize Fawkes was speaking to him, the "sir" throwing him off. His stomach cramped, doing an experimental heave, but settled eventually, hunger winning over his emotions.

“Just get me anything,” he sighed. He wanted to be alone, wanted quiet in order to make sense of the thoughts in his head. To understand why, even after witnessing the devastation first hand, he couldn’t hate Roy. “But show me my quarters first.”

His place for the night was a rudimentary structure that was, he supposed, intended to be a small house. Made with alchemy, its oddly smooth and organic clay walls betrayed its origin, as did the extremely uniform roof. It was one of ten similar microscopic houses in a row, one after another. Inside was one room with a bed, a dresser, a table with two chairs and some shelves, plus a small bathroom with a tiny shower attached. If this was a sample of officer accommodations, Ed didn’t want to see how the soldiers lived. He shed layers of heavy clothes, overheating in them now that they were away from the mountains proper. He'd only just sat down to get his boots off when there was a knock at his door.

“Enter,” he said, not bothering to get up. He debated storing his boots as neatly as Roy did, but decided to just leave them as they fell.

“Hi, boss,” Havoc said as he entered the room, two bags in his hands sounding as tired as Ed felt.

Ed considered briefly the fact Havoc was a higher rank than himself so "boss" was a little odd, but then he shrugged it off. If Havoc was offended that Ed wasn’t saluting him, he could try and make something out of it.

“You look like shit,” Ed said in lieu of greeting, his stomach growling loudly as he caught the scent of food.

Havoc opened the bags and laid out their supper, containers of thick stew and a loaf of bread to share between them. Plus a bottle of whisky. Ed eyed the bottle and tried to decide if he wanted a drink more than he feared the memory of the first and last time he got drunk.

“Too much to do,” Havoc sighed as he dug into the food.

They didn’t speak much while they ate, their spoons scraping the bowls the only sound in the room for a while. After they finished Havoc took down two glasses from the shelf and poured drinks for them both.

“I don’t drink,” Ed said, not touching the half full glass on the table in front of him.

Havoc snorted and reached for his own glass. “No man can travel through the kill zone and not want a drink at the end of it,” he said, and took a healthy swallow. There was a dark shadow on his jaw and Ed wondered if he even had the time to shave in the mornings. “And I think you need it especially.”

That got his temper going. “Why?” he snarled. “You think I’m too innocent to understand death? That all of this is just too traumatic for my gentle soul?”

Havoc looked at him, pity so evident in his eyes Ed flinched from it on instinct alone. “No,” Havoc said, sounding calm and very tired. “I know you are harder than most of the soldiers in this base put together, and more dangerous to boot.” He took another sip from his glass.

“Then why?”

Havoc hesitated, clearly mulling over his words. “Because Mustang did it,” he said eventually, “and none of us are capable of condemning him for it.”

Ed flinched again, at both the accuracy of the statement and the implied ‘you especially’. Given how public they'd been with their displays of affection, Ed had no illusions about whether people knew he was sleeping with Roy.

“I don’t know what to feel,” he said finally, reaching for the glass. “It’s unforgivable but…” his words failed him. It had stopped the war, hadn't it? Even the occupation seemed to be progressing nearly bloodlessly now.

“You can’t save everybody,” Havoc said into the silence. “Roy saved what he considered his.” Havoc drained his glass and reached for the bottle, pouring himself another. “Could you have done it?”

Ed thought of the array he'd seen inside Roy’s mind, the beautiful, intricate latticework of genius and death. The array was unbearably elegant, its efficiency stunning Ed wordless even now, remembering it.

“Technically?” Ed took a gulp of the alcohol. It burned his throat, tasting just as awful as he remembered it. “Yes. Maybe not with fire, but I am capable of causing destruction on a large scale.” Ed knew he was stalling, reluctant to answer Havoc’s question.

He thought of the drawn, cold soldiers and the reverent hope in their eyes when they looked towards Roy on that fateful day. He thought of the broken people in Rockbell’s Automail shop and the hollow-eyed, shell-shocked civilians.

“No,” he said finally, feeling the truth of it in his bones. “I would kill myself first.”

Havoc nodded, something in his eyes dark and haunted. “I would probably eat my gun before pulling a trigger on something like that too.” He downed half of his glass. “Do you hate him?”

Ed closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand.

“No,” he said feeling the truth of the statement. “I’m angry at him, betrayed even that he would do such a thing.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I know why he did it, and I know he will carry that guilt for the rest of his life.” Ed pushed his half full glass away, deciding that he still hated whisky.

Havoc finished off his second glass and set it down on the table. He didn’t reach for the bottle again. “And you love him,” he said, when Ed didn’t speak again.

“What?” Ed glared at Havoc, more in surprise at having the words spoken out loud than at the sentiment itself. Yeah, he had tried to avoid putting a name to the thing growing inside him, howling for Roy every moment he couldn't see the man, but he knew it was there.

Havoc picked up Ed’s glass but didn't drink, just played with it, tilting the amber liquid inside left and right. “For what’s it worth, I think he loves you too,” Havoc sounded oddly calm, his eyes still on the glass.

“What?” Ed hated repeating himself, hated the way the thing inside his chest swelled out and jerked, eager for the words.

Havoc shrugged. “Roy Mustang is a deeply private and deeply paranoid man,” he said carefully. “You were gone a long time, and you never saw him in Ishval or just after, but believe me when I tell you that anybody attempting to perform alchemy within ten feet of him without warning would get blown to bits before Mustang even realized what he was doing. Yet you not only did that inches from his head, you did that when he was weakened and when he was asleep. You _touched him_ while he was _performing_ alchemy.” Havoc shook his head, an incredulous expression on his face. “I don’t think even Riza ever dared to do that. You should be dead ten times over. And yet each time he let you in, lets you get under his guard as if he didn't even have any. Limits, barriers, lines none of us are allowed to as much as approach, he takes them down for you as if they'd never even existed.”

“I slept with him,” Ed shrugged, knowing Havoc would think of recent days while he was thinking of three years prior. He thought back to Kissel, to Roy drunk and unstable, looking for a fight in that bar. Thought of Roy's lips on his skin that night, his weight pressing Ed down. “And people let their lovers in, don’t they?”

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t the truth. He'd slept with Ling for months and he'd never opened up to the Xingese the way he had for Roy. Ling was a good guy, if utterly and endlessly irritating, a smart opponent who could keep Ed on his toes if he tried. He should have been easier to connect with than Roy was. Ed should have let him, but even months into their strange relationship Ed had kept his thoughts to himself, kept his guard up. Ling knew, of course -- his mind was as sharp as Roy’s and his ability to read people unparalleled. He knew... but he still gave Ed everything Ed needed, and that was what had pushed Ed to travel deeper into Xing. He had to escape the palace because he couldn’t stand the way Ling would look at him sometimes, when he thought Ed wouldn’t see. He didn't open up to Winry either, couldn’t trust her to look into his soul and understand. Not forgive, because he knew she would forgive him anything he ever did, but understand: understand that he could be as dangerous as Roy, that some part of him relished the fight, the thrill of victory and his power.

Havoc laughed. “Maybe, but Mustang doesn’t,” he said firmly. “His lovers were _many_ , and god how I envied him the ability to just bat his eyelashes and have women flocking from every corner.” He shook his head with a wry grin. “He always bent backwards for you though. Since you were just a little, mouthy shrimp, he would trade favors and make backroom deals for you. To keep you out of other people’s reach, to keep you safe, to give you everything you needed for your mission.” Havoc turned to him, eyes surprisingly clear as they pinned Ed in his place. “And I doubt you were sleeping with him at twelve.”

“Please,” Ed snorted, torn between horror and amusement. “The very thought of sex, any kind of sex, was disgusting then.”

“Something about you,” Havoc murmured, “is different. From the very start, he treated you differently than anyone else in his life. Even now.” Havoc made a wide gesture toward the camp around them. “He's made sure that you are untouchable.”

Ed gave Havoc a questioning look. What did _that_ mean?.

“Officially you've been reinstated with a rank of Colonel, but I doubt there’s a single general in this army that would refuse an order from you, and I can _guarantee_ nobody will dare give you an order.” Havoc sighed and put the glass down. “You could even walk away,” he said, leaning back on his chair until it cracked. “Leave, right out of the middle of a war. Nobody would look for you, much less try to drag you back.”

“What?” Ed felt like he was turning into a parrot. “What do you mean?”

“According to the paperwork, you're on special assignment, answerable only to him. Nobody even has the right to ask you what you're doing. So, if you turned around and left, you could get away with it.” Havoc sighed, rubbing his eyes. “He did always try to give you everything you might ever need.”

“Except asking me to stay.” The words were out before Ed had time to censor himself. In fact, Roy didn't ask for anything. Even the barracks. He'd only shown Ed the array when Ed showed interest, and he never actually asked Ed to build them for him. Roy took him as he came, but he didn’t ask for more. Ed hadn't even realized it bothered him until now.

“Didn’t he?” Havoc asked, looking at Ed from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?”

Ed opened his mouth to say _yes, of course I'm sure._ Roy welcomed him with open arms and emotions hidden behind the porcelain mask Ed hated so much but he _didn’t ask_ Ed for anything. Then he paused, his mouth closing with a snap.

Roy didn’t ask him for anything, that was true enough. But it wasn’t the complete truth.

Roy had offered himself, once.

In that small kitchen, on a sunny morning during one of Ed’s darkest times, Roy offered himself and Ed rejected him. He remembered the guilt that filled him at the expression in Roy’s eyes before the mask slammed into place again.

Roy didn’t take back his offer, though. He didn’t say it was a mistake, he didn’t withdraw his words.

What if, to Roy, the offer was still there between them, still open, and it was _Ed_ who was refusing it over and over again?

“ _Oh_.”

\---

Ed didn’t get much sleep. He spent hours tossing and turning, mind alternating between visions of everything he'd seen on the way here and replaying his conversation with Havoc. Was he really lagging so much behind Roy? Ed thought he could read the man better than most; was it possible he had such a huge blind spot? Interspersed with this were waves of guilt for thinking more about his strange relationship with Roy than about the people who'd been affected (not to mention slaughtered) by Daybreak, and that brought him right back to the hollow-eyed civilians.

When he finally did fall asleep, his traitorous body didn’t let him rest even then. He kept dreaming of Roy, stretched out in bed, warm against Ed's back, breath hot and heavy in Ed’s ear, voice smooth as silk as he told Ed all the filthy things he was going to do to him.

Between the dreams he would wake up, horny and frustrated, cock hard and ears still ringing with Roy’s words. He tossed and turned, trying to ignore his ridiculously sensitive body. He wasn’t supposed to be the sex-obsessed maniac in this relationship, and yet look at him. He couldn’t help the feeling of resentment when he finally gave in and jerked off, so as to be able to get at least some rest. It was beyond annoying that Roy was managing to be a bastard even when he wasn’t actively trying and that Ed, stupid as he was about the man, couldn’t even get properly angry about it.

He woke up still grumpy and tired, vague images of Roy clinging to his mind throughout most of the morning. The only upside of being vaguely horny and distracted was that he forgot to torture himself with images from the kill zone.

Ed rode with Havoc for the rest of the trip. He figured Havoc was his designated nanny, and really, Roy used to be more subtle in his attempts to spy on Ed. Somebody had noted his request for a sizable stash of sweet drinks, and he started on them about an hour away from the place where he was supposed to build the barracks. Somewhere around the third can of cherry drink and second bar of chocolate, Havoc started giving him a mistrustful side eye.

“You sure you won’t hurl before we even get to the place?” he asked as Ed finished his second chocolate bar and reached for a bag of candy.

The question made Ed miss Roy. Roy would know what he was doing, Roy understood so many things about him that it was nearly always unnecessary to explain the reasons why. How, yes, but never why.

“I will need the energy,” he said with a shrug, tossing a hard candy into his mouth and crunching it. Sugar wasn’t usually his go-to food, but for short term bursts of exertion he'd found it to be helpful. He could do what he needed to do without the boost, but didn’t relish suffering an exhaustion hangover for the next few days.

“How many are you going to build today?” Havoc asked, reaching into his pocket to pull out his eternally mangled pack of cigarettes.

Ed hesitated. He already had the designs for the barracks memorised. He only ever needed to activate an array once to be able to repeat it, but that morning, during breakfast, he'd realized something. Roy with his Flame Alchemy and Ed with his… well, everything else, basically, were so different as to actually be mirror reflections of each other. Roy was a genius with the destruction part of alchemy, while Ed was a genius with the creation part of the process. Each reaction, when brought down to its basic logic, was composed of three main steps: destruction, transmutation and creation. In certain ways Roy and he were representations of the first and the last step of the process. Roy destroyed, but Ed could _build_. He loved that -- not the part where he had to dig deep for resources, but the part where he could let his imagination run free, matter taking on whatever shape he assigned it.

Roy took away Drachma’s fighting spirit, and like a soldier he focused on the here and now. Ed was Roy’s weapon, he'd known that since he was twelve, what with being sent all over the country to fix shit, but he wasn’t a weapon of destruction. Roy had to know that, know that he wouldn't follow orders. Not completely anyway.

“Depends on resources,” he answered finally. “Everything depends on resources.”

“We have been dumping anything and everything at the site from trash, spent artillery shells, and broken equipment to rocks and sand,” Havoc said. “We chose an old quarry as the site, since we were told that having the right kind of stone ready would make it easier on you.”

Ed nodded. Havoc must have done some research. The longer Ed watched him in his command role, the more he had to admit Havoc was doing well in it. He didn’t have a chip on his shoulder about being better than the foot soldiers, and Ed could tell the troops loved him for his easygoing attitude. He was hard-working and very competent, like most of Roy’s chosen staff. He might like to complain, he might hide his skills under the failed ladies'-man persona, but all that was forgotten in the face of the war.

“Make sure all soldiers and equipment, and anything else you don’t want to lose, is a long away from the zone, I would say a minimum of twenty miles.”

Havoc’s hand, bringing a crumpled cigarette to his mouth paused. “Twenty miles?”

Ed considered his plans. Beyond the size of the structure itself, he might need to go searching for resources outside if he found himself in need of something. It was better to be safe than sorry. He nodded, once.

“Yes, at a minimum. Once I get the arrays going I won't have time to check whether what I’m deconstructing for resources is a General or a jeep. It’s just going to be atoms at that point to me.”

Havoc nodded and leaned forward to tap Fawkes on the shoulder. “Pass the order down the line. All personnel, trucks, and armament to be moved to the twenty mile mark." He shot a grin at Ed. "At a minimum.”

“Thank you.” Ed closed his eyes, mind going over the hastily designed plans again, trying to adjust his calculations to accommodate the changes he'd decided on earlier that morning. He didn’t bother with exact specifics; without previous knowledge of what raw materials were available, he would have to think on his feet anyway.

When they arrived at their destination it was already past eleven and the sun was high in the sky. The old quarry was massive, sprawling but not too deep. It had clearly been unused for a while, trees and grass covering most of the terrain. The ground was churned up by the untold number of heavy trucks that must have passed through here in the last few days. There were neat stacks of felled trees all along the eastern end of the pit, and piles of various kinds of debris from metal to glass to rocks all around the place. Havoc hadn't been joking when he said they brought in everything they could think of.

Ed jumped out of the jeep and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it into the back seat. “Right. You should go too,” he said, considering taking off his vest as well.. It was really warm now, but he was bound to sweat during the transmutation and while he hated being hot, he didn’t want to get chilled while he was too busy to notice being cold.

“Right.” Havoc looked around what was now basically a very slightly organized landfill. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.” He motioned to the driver and soon the car was turning around and moving away at a speed that indicated Havoc had instilled into his driver a proper fear of alchemists.

"Twenty miles!" Ed shouted after him, and Havoc waved back with a grin. For all his warnings, Ed was confident he wouldn’t have his arrays actually eat Havoc.

Satisfied Havoc was well on his way, Ed stretched his hands out, rolled his neck and then his shoulders to loosen up. It was time to do some serious work.

He clapped his hands, feeling the circle close, the energy sparking to life inside him, and knelt down, slamming his palms into the ground. What he was planning to do wasn’t anything new, all the arrays familiar to him. It was the scale that was a first.

He closed his eyes and let the first array bloom to life, the one that would even out the terrain, creating a better canvas for him to work with. It stretched around him in every direction, taking up the planned area. Then he exhaled, once, and expanded the area to twice its size, and then twice more, the array too big for him to see in its entirety now. He could only keep track of it mentally. He used the top layer of soil to mark the outlines of the structures first. He wasn’t going to try to invent everything from scratch; better to use what he knew, even if only on a smaller scale.

He set the roads first, branching out from the central area and then connecting, forming distinct blocks. Central City wasn’t the prettiest urban area in the world, but it was designed in a repeatable pattern that was easy to reproduce. Each segment he laid out was identical, like slices of a cake, arranging themselves around Ed who was the focal point for the whole array.

Once he had the main layout marked, he started on the prefabrication arrays. For a single house he would have dragged the material in loose form to the spaces he wanted it to fill, manufacturing items like doors and windows once the material was in place. But with the scale required for this project, that wasn’t possible. He couldn't focus on every window and every door knob. Instead he created cascading arrays, one feeding into the other, with circuits that would provide power in rapid pulses instead of one continuous supply. This way he could have one array eating through the wood and separating it into single cells, feeding the loose material into a series of other arrays that would produce chairs, beds, tables, window frames, and so on. He would have to sacrifice originality for uniformity, but there was no way he could deal with it otherwise.

Even as he was setting up the secondary cascading arrays, he started pushing the main one for stone to start feeding him material for walls. His awareness of the outside world faded, all his focus strictly on the images in his mind, the calculations and the tightly controlled flow of energy.

Roy had asked for barracks, but that was such a short term idea. If they wanted to make sure Drachma didn’t simply wait to recover before another attack, Ed needed to make sure they saw something more than a force of destruction in Amestris.

So he wasn’t going to build barracks. Or rather he wasn’t going to build _only_ barracks.

He pushed more power out, losing the feel of the sun on his back, the cool touch of the breeze, as every sense, all of him, focused tightly on the buildings rising from the ground. Larger ones for officials, a place for the officers to work, a parade ground for the inevitable displays of strength, those were easy. The uniform houses he arranged in three of the five segments barely required his attention, the arrays replicating the design easily enough although they sucked his energy out something wicked.

He ran out of the raw materials stockpiled for him before he finished the last section of the houses and reached deeper for the untapped quarry resources, the sandstone coming easy through the array, unlike the harder rocks that would sometimes fight him.

He was well into the fourth section, raising a row of buildings that could be used as shops and restaurants, one story with big open spaces for the businesses inside, when he felt one of the arrays falter. It was still devouring and transmuting whatever it could find underground, but something was interfering with the reaction, hydrogen and oxygen throwing the whole thing off. It nearly blew up before Ed redirected the excess gases -- and oh how he hated transmuting gases, Roy was a goddamn masochist doing that on the regular. It was like trying to cram an elephant through a keyhole. He gasped, suddenly aware of a pounding headache, and shifted the array, changing it so that it wouldn’t fucking try and transmute water. Because that was what was happening, he realized. He'd gone so deep for the stone he'd hit some sort of underground river. And created a huge damn hole in the ground that was eating into half of the fifth sector already.

Cursing internally, he scrapped half the barracks he had planned to put there and instead moved them behind the second and third sectors, hastily cobbling together and electrifying a new street to connect them to the grid he'd already created. When he turned his attention back to the hole he could feel it rapidly filling with water, the edges of it destabilizing from the pressure of the rapid current. Cursing again, he tried to remember all he knew about fluid dynamics. It wasn’t much, and most of what he remembered was Al telling him to work _with_ water, brother, _don’t try to out-stubborn it_ , and that was what he did. Instead of plugging the hole he expanded it, forming an even, distinctly-edged basin, reinforcing the shores on the sides of the buildings with even more rock. That forced him to shift material from the other end of the basin, widening the hole even more in the process. Within moments he could already feel the pressure evening out, between the river and what was quickly becoming a lake.

His head pounded and there was that trembling, heart-beating-irregularly feeling of exhaustion gnawing at him, eating through the concentration. But he couldn't stop, not yet. He finished getting most of the basic structures ready -- laying out the pipes for water and waste first had saved him a lot of trouble -- but he needed to add the finishing touches. Roy would never let him live it down if he did sloppy work. Besides, he had his pride, didn't he?

Lampposts and benches were easy; thankfully, so much metal debris had been left behind by the army that he had an excess of resources there. He was running low on wood, thought, and he had to search further, until he found a groove of trees he could cannibalize. Transporting the liquified mass was still easier than transmuting sandstone into wood.

He could tell that he didn't have the power left to transmute paint, so he went for carvings instead. Reshaping material already there was easier than creating something new, and the pain it was causing him to feed power into the arrays suggested he was on his last legs.

Cobbled streets and sidewalks grew themselves next, winding past the houses and the town centre, around the rapidly-filling lake. He added a stone pier, only remembering after he made it to transmute the sandstone into something less susceptible to water damage.

By the time the last column was rising around the parade grounds, the grass stolen from around the quarry flowing into designated spaces like green paint, Ed’s whole body hurt. His head pounded, his teeth ached and his back was killing him.

He realized he was losing control when one of the furniture manufacturing arrays hiccuped and failed, the excess material backing up and reacting badly with the wood manufacturing array. Ed just managed to break the two apart before the backlash tore through him, and in that moment when he had to turn his attention to the manufacturing subarrays, he didn’t notice that his carefully separated main arrays had drifted too close, the transmutations overlaying with extreme violence.

Ed had to abandon all of his building and manufacturing arrays to to shove a new one right into the middle of the reaction, desperately pulling carbon out of it before the whole thing imploded, destroying all he'd built and probably killing him in the process.

He felt the new array spread, although it was like pulling it out his own soul, and forced the last of his strength into it before everything went black.

\---

He blinked his eyes open to find himself lying on the brand new plaza. Two-story buildings, painted gold and orange, were arranged neatly around it, their balconies edged with wrought iron railings gleaming in the setting sun. The eerie silence of the town rang in his ears. All he could do was lie on his back staring up into the sky, only peripherally aware of the shadows deepening. He had no idea how much time had passed since he lost consciousness, but he couldn't muster the energy even to sit up, feeling floaty and so exhausted he couldn’t move a single muscle. In the distance, he heard the now familiar sound of a military jeep approaching. It stopped not far from him and somebody stepped out, boots crunching slightly on the newly made street.

“Ed, are you alive?”

Havoc. He sounded strained, a thread of tension in his voice that Ed didn’t have the energy to decipher. “I think so,” he managed to rasp out, only now realizing his throat was dry as dust and his lips were cracked, hurting as he spoke.

Havoc came closer and leaned over Ed, the light behind him hiding his face. “Sometimes,” Havoc said, his voice uneven, “you make it really hard to remember you're only human.”

Ed just blinked up at him, way past "tired" and into the hazy land beyond, where he was nearly insensate. “Did it work?” he asked after a moment, still blinking at Havoc. Even his eyes felt weird.

“If you mean did you make a whole goddamn town and a lake next to it, then yes, it worked.”

“Oh good,” Ed sighed, letting his eyes close. “I lost track there for a moment.”

“Lost track,” Havoc repeated, still in that odd tone of voice. “Can you walk?”

Ed considered the question carefully and found that even the thought of moving in any way made him want to cry. “No, I don't think I can,” he answered after a while. He was losing sense of time.

“Okay,” Havoc said, sounding a little more normal now. Ed felt strong hands on his shoulders pulling him into a sitting position and then he was hanging head down in a fireman’s carry over Havoc’s shoulder. Damn, the guy was fit.

“Get that for me,” he mumbled, waving weakly towards a dirty rock the size of a watermelon. Havoc's shoulder was surprisingly comfortable. Ed closed his eyes. A nap sounded like an awesome idea right then. A really, really, long one.

He didn’t remember much after that. Somebody was forcing water down his throat. Then something that felt like a bed. He either woke up briefly and ate, or maybe he dreamed he was eating something.

Mostly what he remembered was that he wanted to see Roy again.

\---

Roy woke up when he heard someone stumble over one of the boxes waiting in the main room. Riza had ordered some of the soldiers to start packing up the command quarters the day before for the move back to Central City soon. As much as it galled him to listen to other people, Roy wanted to have a functional parliament in Amestris and -- hopefully -- change his designation from Fuhrer to Prime Minister, but that required building up the structures first and letting people learn that he would heed their decisions. The Security Council had decided in an almost unanimous vote that Roy should return to Central City lest he be killed. Again. Even Olivier Armstrong voted for him to come back, and that was mind blowing, considering how much Olivier no doubt wished Roy would helpfully cease to exist.

He was halfway to his gloves when he recognized the voice uttering the muffled curses.

Edward.

Roy sat up in the bed and looked towards the doorway that led out into the main room. He hadn't expected Edward until at least the evening of the next day. Havoc’s reports had detailed Ed's severe exhaustion, and said they expected Ed to sleep through at least one more day.

So the fact that Ed was here, now, stumbling through Roy’s dark quarters was a surprise. Roy had already prepared himself for the possibility he might miss seeing Ed entirely, if the younger man didn’t recover before Roy had to leave for Central, but no matter how much he considered the options he couldn't decide which was worse: leaving before Edward came back, or seeing him only long enough to say goodbye. Neither seemed like a good option, but they hadn't made any promises to each other and Edward evidently hadn’t made up his mind yet. Roy could hear it in his silences, send it in how he avoided speaking when Roy expected him to rage, see it in the way Ed watched him.

As much as it hurt to think about it, Roy expected he'd return to Central alone one way or the other. Edward was still looking for himself, trying to find his footing in a completely different world, and Roy’s life was nothing that would ever appeal to Edward. From this terrible war to the endless politics, the constant balancing of threats and promises, trying to change a nation while still keeping control over the volatile government, it was all things that Ed wouldn't understand, or actively hated. Roy still had no idea why Edward had come looking for him. He'd expected him to show up eventually, if only to make sure his brother was safe and sound, and it would have made sense if Ed came to stay with Alphonse in Central, the safest place Roy could place the younger Elric. But it made no sense whatsoever for Edward to come to the front to find Roy, much less to stay.

Well, whatever came to pass, Roy would deal with it, the same as he dealt with everything else. He would lock it away, bury it, the way he had to bury everything else. Nobody would even notice, except maybe Riza; everyone was too invested in their goal, had sacrificed too much, for Roy to have the freedom to allow himself to _feel_.

And yet, in spite of everything, Roy still felt a quiet type of warmth as he watched Edward stumble into the bedroom, hopping on one leg and cursing quietly, something tucked under his arm.

“Edward,” he said, trying hard not to hear the things hiding in his own voice. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow evening.”

“Got tired of sleeping,” Ed said, sounding exceedingly annoyed. “Fawkes is a good man,” he added, dropping his package onto the desk with a loud thump. “He brought me coffee.” He came to the bed, sat down heavily, and started unlacing his boots, his movements quick and jerky.

“How much coffee?” Roy asked. There was something odd about how Ed was moving.

“I don’t know,” Ed said, tossing one boot away and starting on the other. “Two or three, I don’t remember.” He cursed as the laces seemed to escape his fingers.

Roy frowned, watching him. “Mugs?”

“Carafes,” Ed said. “There was also sugar, lots of sugar, in the second one. And something added to it to make it taste better. No idea what, but it was very good. Good man.”

So, Ed was basically high on sugar and caffeine now. “Creamer,” Roy said absently. “New invention. Has a nearly unlimited expiration date.”

Ed froze, his boot half off, and turned narrowed eyes on Roy. His messy braid slithered over his back and disappeared over his shoulder. “Cream?” he said, very slowly, his tone as dangerous as if he were holding a live grenade. “He fed me _milk_?”

Roy realized with a distant amusement that Major Fawkes might die. “Well, not exactly” he said, reaching for that messy braid. It looked like Ed had slept on it for at least a day. He tugged it over Ed’s shoulder and drew it towards himself, finding the tie at the end and pulling it carefully off. God, he loved Edward's hair, and he loved the fact he wore it so long now even more. “It’s a powder, and so processed I doubt you could find anything even vaguely milk-related in it." He ran his fingers slowly through the freed hair, the zigzagging waves left by the braid loosening under his touch.

Ed tilted his head back, a sound like a purr coming from him. “God, you are good with your hands,” he murmured, leaning closer to Roy.

“Thank you.” Roy felt a swell of pleasure in his chest at the unexpected compliment. He pressed his fingertips to Edward’s skull in response and rubbed tight, firm circles over his scalp. “I try.”

“Yeah,” Ed murmured, pleasure thick in his voice. “You do, don't you?” Then he was moving, twisting and crawling onto the bed towards Roy. “Kiss me,” he demanded. Roy was always willing to follow this kind of order, so he shifted his hand to Ed’s jaw and leaned in to do as he was asked.

But he didn’t get the chance. Something caught at Ed's foot, jerking him back, and he cursed and twisted away. Roy watched bemusedly as he shimmied down to the edge of the bed, still cursing, and rapidly tore at the laces of the boot he'd forgotten to take off.

He tossed the boot at the opposite wall with a triumphant “Ha!” and then stood up, shrugging out of his coat and jacket, his twisting and turning highlighting the way his shirt and vest tightened on his chest, the firm muscles rippling beneath the cotton.

“Where was I?” he asked, letting the clothes fall where they would. Roy wondered how it was Ed managed not to look like a complete rag-bag when he treated his clothes like this. He suspected alchemy.

“Ah, yes,” he said, and then he was back on the bed, crawling towards Roy, his gorgeous wild hair falling forward and trailing on the covers. Roy stared, because what else _could_ he do when Ed was crawling towards him, fluid and easy as a cat.

“You promised me a kiss,” Ed murmured, his face inches from Roy's and his body warm against Roy's from shoulders to knees.

"I did, didn’t I?"

Roy caught a handful of that fascinating hair and pulled Ed closer, leaning in for that kiss before Ed got distracted again. Ed’s lips were soft, parting sweetly when Roy licked at them. He kissed Ed slowly, coaxing him into opening up, into returning the kiss slowly and thoroughly, just as Roy liked it. By the time they broke for air, Ed was straddling his legs, his arms around Roy’s neck and his hair falling over them both. Roy pushed his nose under Ed’s ear, inhaling his unique scent and licked at the tender skin there.

“Oh,” Ed breathed, “its unfair how good you are at this.” His voice was edged with a kind of purr that Roy had never heard from him before. He liked it, liked how it made Edward sound relaxed and easy. Ed shifted on his legs, resting more weight on him, and plucked at his sweater. “Why didn’t you tell me Havoc was so damn fit, by the way?” he said as Roy made his slow way down that unfairly attractive neck. “His shoulders are made of fucking steel.”

Roy paused in his exploration of the delicious tendon and looked up at Edward. “Havoc?” He wasn't sure how he ought to feel about this. His lover, who was straddling him right now, whom Roy was doing his best to pleasure...was talking about another man's shoulders.

“Yeah,” Ed grumbled, even as he pushed his neck closer to Roy. “Fucking picked me up like I weighed nothing,” he added, with something that was definitely an irritating tinge of awe. “It was hot.”

_Hot?_

“When exactly,” Roy said, through his teeth, “did you get close enough to Havoc to feel up his shoulders?”

Ed made another impatient sound and then clapped his hands. Roy twitched at the sensation of potential opening so close to him, the circle closing, and then twitched again as Ed touched his shoulders and his sweater shredded instantly to ribbons, the blue glow of Edward’s alchemy lighting up the whole room, the energy released making his hair float around him. Edward was a vision, golden eyes turned silver in the light, half lidded, lips wet and half open.

Staring up at Edward, Roy realized in that single moment that he would kill Havoc if he so much as touched Ed ever again. He was a great friend, a fantastic subordinate, but Roy would arrange an accident if he ever saw this, saw Ed so willing and beautiful.

“He took me to bed,” Ed said, looking down at his fingers as he unbuttoned his vest.

“You slept with Havoc,” Roy said slowly, feeling the ice in his voice, in his chest. Or maybe it was fire. Whatever it was, he was going to _murder_ Havoc.

“What?” Ed had the gall to blink at him uncomprehendingly.

Roy tightened his hands on Ed’s hips, shifting him up and rolling them over, intent on holding Ed down and getting some answers from him. He realized his mistake when he felt Ed tense and then twist under him, unbalancing them. The world rolled and flipped and the next thing he knew he was on his back on the bed with Ed’s forearm on his throat. He'd forgotten. He'd gotten too used to this calmer, more measured version of Edward, so much so that he forgot Ed was nothing less than a fighting machine, a consummate martial artist. Startling him with what could be considered a physical attack was not a smart move.

Then he realized that Ed seemed as surprised as himself, as his eyes dropped to the forearm currently cutting off Roy’s ability to breathe. He flushed, snatching his arm back. “Sorry!” he said guiltily. “Sorry! Didn't mean to…” he trailed off, his liquid gold eyes narrowing suddenly. “Wait a minute. Are you _jealous_?”

Roy still couldn't move. Not much, anyway. In that moment when Ed took control of the flip, he'd managed to get Roy in a position that severely restricted his movements.

“When exactly did you and Havoc got _friendly_ enough you know how his shoulders feel?” Roy asked, doing his best to maintain an even tone and not betray the bitter fire burning low in his belly.

Ed stared at him for a long moment. “When he picked me up after I passed out? When I built you a fucking town to house your fucking army, you fucking ungrateful bastard?”

Oh.

Suddenly Roy remembered the commotion in the camp, the murmur that had rung through the soldiers like a wave, Riza shouting at him to come out and look at the sky. A sky lit up by a brilliant column of blue light, a particular shade of blue that Roy knew very well. Edward. Doing something ridiculous and impossible, something that definitely wasn't just building a couple dozen barracks.

“We could see the light from here,” Roy said in a low voice, the awe and terror cutting sharply through his heart again, just as it had at that moment. Edward kept exceeding the limits of possibility, twisting and stretching reality, and Roy lived in terror of that day when the world would turn on Edward and make him pay for his tremendous power. “For hours. A great pillar of light that looked as if you were trying to open up heaven itself.”

When the communications soldier had run up to him with the phone, Roy feared the worst. Because surely whatever Edward was doing was too big, too dangerous. He didn't let himself hesitate, thought, didn’t let himself be weak. He picked up the phone, every nerve strung tight in readiness to hear. The soldier on the end of the line sounded equally awed and terrified as he reported that there was a city, not just a few barracks, but a _fucking city_ , growing all around the designated site. Oh, and a lake. Let’s not forget the lake. "I thought..."

He had no idea what was in his voice, too overcome by memory to be self-aware, but Ed’s eyes went wide as he stared down at him. “Roy,” Ed whispered, his voice softer now, lost.

“I kept thinking,” Roy went on, for once not considering his words, not guarding his thoughts. “What if you'd taken on too much? You can be impulsive and rash. Half the time you don't even know human beings _have_ limits. What if you overstepped yours?”

“Roy,” Ed whispered. He sounded…wretched, hurting, but now that the first few words were out Roy couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop them from spilling over.

“That kind of reaction, one that put out so much energy that we could see it from here… if it failed, if there was backlash, it would rip you apart. There wouldn’t even be anything to bring back, would there? It would tear you to shreds.”

“I’m sorry,” Ed said, eyes wide and almost terrified -- although of what, Roy didn’t have the faintest idea. It couldn’t be death, as he kept courting it practically every other minute. “I’m sorry, Roy, please.” His fingers were on Roy's lips, trying to stop the words.

They were quiet for a long moment, Roy with his eyes closed, desperately stuffing all the ugly, trembling feelings back down where they belonged, closing them behind heavy doors. Ed didn’t deserve to have to deal with the mess that was Roy’s emotions. Nobody deserved that burden.

“I didn't mean to worry you,” Edward said after a long moment, his voice soft and tentative. “I tried to be as careful as I know how.” He knew he was explaining. Justifying. Something he'd never felt the need to do with Roy before. “I thought… you can’t just build the peace on terror alone. You need to give Drachma something to respect, some other emotion towards you other than fear alone. And you sent me there…so I figured you knew I would do what you wanted.”

“Would you?” Roy asked with a voice that sounded more familiar to his ears. “Would you really?”

Ed shifted over him, pressing his forehead to Roy’s shoulder. He was heavy on top of him, solid and very much alive. Roy wanted to touch him. “I’m not twelve anymore,” he murmured into Roy’s shoulder. “I know what you're trying to achieve. And while I don’t always agree on the how, I… believe you are choosing the best option.” Ed exhaled, his hot breath fanning over Roy’s neck. “Even if I can’t see why you do the things you do, I trust you. So if you asked me to do something… yeah, I would.”

Roy stared with blind eyes at the uneven ceiling above him as his understanding of Ed, of the world, shifted on its axis. He'd always lived on the assumption there was a very fragile balance between them, one constantly stacked against him. He'd always felt the need to tilt it in his favor, to make sure he wouldn't lose Ed’s loyalty over some choice he would have to make in the future. That was the thought that haunted him, even when Edward was gone. That his choices would be judged and found wanting. That _he_ would he judged.

“I don’t want you to die,” he said finally, lifting his hands to run them up Edward's sides. He felt Ed's ribs expanding with each breath, the heat of his body radiating through the cotton of his shirt, the hard stretch of muscle underneath. “I just… I always wanted to keep you safe.”

Edward snorted, but the sound was affectionate rather than irritated. “You had a funny way of showing it,” he said. “Telling me to join the military, sending me on all those missions.”

Roy thought back to the broken child he'd met all those years ago in Rockbell’s house and the terrible brilliance of the array the failed human transmutation had left scorched into the floor.

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “the only way to keep you safe was to arm you.” He slid his hands under the shirt, tracing along the dip of Edward’s spine to the powerful muscles of his back, the same ones that had flipped him over so casually just moments before. “You're not meek, nor are you content to sit quietly in a safe place. I knew you'd go out into the world, put yourself in danger sooner or later.”

Ed braced his arms on either side of Roy’s head and lifted up to look down at him, the tensing of his muscles sending a tingle through Roy. “So you wanted me to be the bigger danger,” Edward said slowly, staring at him with considering eyes. “Armed and ready.”

Roy nodded. "Yes." He'd basically weaponized a twelve year old child because he didn’t know how else to make sure he would survive.

“Nobody else understood,” Ed said roughly. “They told me to go home, let the adults take care of things. They told me I was too young to understand, that _somebody else_ would solve my problems.” Ed sat up to sit astride Roy’s hips, his hands grazing down the planes of Roy’s bare chest, his touch raising goosebumps in its wake. “But you did. You knew I didn't want _safe_. I wanted solutions. I needed to find them, I needed to _move_. I would have died if I stayed still." Edward looked older as he spoke, older than the two years of absence should have explained. With his long hair falling around him, his eyes dark and deep, looking down at Roy with something both soft and hot, he was beautiful. "You were the only one that understood.”

“Edward...” Roy reached up to caress a few strands of gold that fell forward over Ed’s shoulders. Ed’s eyes were still very soft.

“Don’t feel guilty about what you did for me,” Edward said softly but firmly. “You gave me what I needed, what I could handle. Save your guilt for others.”

Roy nodded, accepting. Edward had made his choice and lived it without regrets. That was something Roy knew intimately and could relate to. He'd chosen to be Fuhrer, and never regretted the things he'd had to sacrifice in his quest.

When Edward leaned in for a kiss, Roy anticipated him. There was still that little rush of jealousy and excitement when Edward kissed him as an equal. All those years ago Edward hadn't been shy, but he'd been inexperienced. He'd tended to wait for Roy’s move first and then copy him, though nothing physical fazed him for long. But now there was a confidence to his touches, to his kisses, that hadn't been there before. He was more confident in his body, more knowing in what to do with it, as he stretched his length over Roy, pressing him firmly into the bed as he kissed his breath away. His hands were confident when they plucked at Roy's clothes and urged him to lose the rest of them. He kissed Roy until both of them were dizzy and naked, moving against Roy’s belly with easy rolls of his hips that Roy found incredibly erotic.

“Can I,” Ed whispered between kisses, one of his elbows braced over Roy’s head, the other roaming restlessly over Roy’s chest, tracing his hips, tweaking his nipples only to push curious fingertips against Roy’s belly. “I want to,” he murmured, his hand now on Roy’s thigh, nudging it gently aside.

Roy hadn’t actually _been_ fucked in well over twelve -- or was it thirteen? -- years. Partly because he hadn't had a male lover for most of that time, but mostly because after the academy he didn't trust anyone to have him in such a vulnerable position again.

“Edward,” he said, or tried to, distracted halfway through his thought by the way Ed was hovering over him, golden skin stretched over powerful muscle, biceps sharply delineated by his position. His hair was falling over them both, a cascade of the softest gold, and his eyes were full of heat and a rueful kind of acceptance. Edward expected him to refuse, Roy realized. Expected him to keep that line between them, a barrier delineating what could and could not be done. With a sense of startled dismay Roy realized that this was also something Ed had learned from somebody else, somebody who enforced arbitrary limits on sex. “Yes,” he said through a throat suddenly gone dry. “If you want to.”

The flash of surprise in Edward’s eyes, the way his lips opened in a shocked little ‘o’, was satisfying beyond belief.

Roy reached under the pillows, rooting there until he found the small bottle. He reached for Edward’s hand, still drawing loopy little patterns on the inside of his thigh.

“I’m assuming you have experience?” Roy asked mildly, shifting under Ed, letting his knees fall wider apart. The way Ed’s breath hitched was gratifying enough, but when he moved to fit himself between Roy’s legs, spreading them further, the shocking sensation of vulnerability cut through him like a knife.

“Um,” Ed sounded breathy. “Some,” he admitted, sounding somewhat unsure of Roy’s reaction.

Roy pushed the tube into Ed's hand and smirked, projecting as much smugness as possible. “Well, if I can’t be the _first_ ,” he said as he bent one of his legs and moved it slowly upwards, dragging his heel over one of Ed’s steel-hard thighs and up to his ass, pulling him closer, “I'll bet I can be the _best_.” He pushed his shoulders back into the bed and tilted his hips up, making the invitation clear as day.

Edward’s eyes darkened, pupils expanding even as he clearly fought a laugh. He leaned down to Roy again, his lips sliding along his jaw, biting gently at the bone before making their way to Roy’s lips.

“You already are,” he murmured, so softly Roy barely caught it. Then there was no time for talking because Ed was apparently determined to eat Roy alive. Roy twitched in response to Ed’s wet, cold fingers skimming over his balls and then lower, rubbing his hole and making everything slick. God, it had been so long he nearly forgot how it felt, how _intimate_ it could be if he trusted his lover enough to let his guard down. It was shocking just how much he trusted Edward.

“I’m not made of glass,” Roy murmured into their kiss. “I won’t break,” he promised, using his heel to urge Ed on again.

The first finger was a shock to his system, memories taking him back to his own teenage years and his first male lover. He must have made a sound because Ed froze , his body a long line of tension.

“Don't stop,” Roy encouraged, licking at Ed’s lips, pulling him closer with a fist tangled in his hair. “Add another.” He bore down on Ed’s hand, tilting his hips higher, opening up to the intrusion. Just because it had been a while didn’t mean he'd forgotten how to do it. His education had been impeccable, after all. He inserted his hand between their bodies, let his fingers trace the shape of the muscles and flexing tendons of Ed's forearm on his way down. Ed’s hand was wide and strong, Roy's palm sliding over the knuckles and slick fingers. He smiled at Ed’s choked off curse as his fingers found the place they were connected, tracing the tight fit of his hole against Ed’s finger, enjoying the gasp and shiver it provoked.

Ed wouldn’t stay cowed for long though. Whatever had made him hesitate before was gone. He rained fierce, biting kisses down Roy’s neck as he came back with two fingers. This was more of a stretch, but it was Ed, so it was good. He fucked Roy with his fingers, making everything wet and just that little bit sloppy. It had been so long since Roy had done it like this, since he'd just offered his body without any reservations, that he half expected not to enjoy it, but that fear was put to rest very quickly. Everything about what was happening made him feel good. Ed’s firm body between his legs, Ed's fingers inside him, Ed's lips on his shoulders, his chest, sucking and biting marks into his skin.

Roy found the abandoned bottle and squeezed some lube onto his hand before finding Ed’s cock and wrapping his slick fingers around it. The sound Ed made was perfect, half growl, half a yelp, as his whole body jerked and he pressed his forehead hard against Roy’s chest. Roy stroked him with a firm grip, enjoying the way the taut flesh slid against his palm, the way Ed shuddered and cursed into his skin.

It didn’t take long before Ed was fucking into him, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and wet lips. The stretch was considerably more than Roy could take easily and he hissed, fingers scratching at Ed’s back, trying desperately to remember to bear down, to relax, to let his lover in. When he bottomed out, Roy felt shaken, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute. Ed felt heavy inside him, big, opening him up in ways Roy wasn’t sure he liked. But he liked the way Ed was breathing, fast and shuddery, fighting hard for stillness, for control, trying to be considerate.

“Come on,” he hissed, tugging Ed closer, shifting his hips as much as he could while flattened under Ed’s weight. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Ed made a tortured sound, shifted to brace himself above Roy better, and let himself go. Roy savored the amazing view of Ed’s whole body as it moved with the slow, deep roll of his hips. His muscles flexed sharply, a dark flush spilling down his chest. He fucked Roy slow and deep, forcing his breath out with every thrust, making the bed squeak and bang hard against the wall. He was beautiful, primal and dangerous. Roy couldn’t take his eyes away, couldn’t stop touching that straining, sweat slick body, memorizing every detail.

Ed was making sounds, hard and sharp, fighting his instinct to speed up, to chase his own orgasm. Roy wrapped a leg around him tighter, meeting his thrusts, goading him to go deeper, make it better, but Ed's rhythm remained ruthlessly steady. Ed’s cock inside him felt good, yes, but this… this was so much better. All that power and potential straining and fighting to keep control, just for him. Roy dragged his hands down that muscular chest, breath catching as heat coiled tightly in his groin.

“Edward,” Roy tried to arch up, tried to catch Ed’s lips with his own but Ed evaded him. “Stop holding back,” he hissed after another thrust, feeling how much Ed was stretching him, how deep he went, their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. He tightened down further on Ed’s cock, a groan escaping him at the sensation scraping all along his every nerve.

Ed whined above him, his body a long arch of pure tension as he struggled for control. “You aren’t,” he panted, sweat dripping down his nose, but every move perfectly measured.

 _Hard enough_ , Roy supplied for him. He wasn’t. This felt good, and watching Ed, so young and powerful felt even better, but it wasn’t enough for Roy and he knew that.

“I won’t come like this,” he said, sliding his hand behind Ed’s neck, trying to pull him closer to kiss him.

Ed froze completely, body hard as marble and eyes losing the heat of the moment rapidly. “You don’t like it,” he said, something like self-reproach in his voice.

Roy strove to weighed his words carefully, despite the almost overwhelming physical sensations filling him. It wasn’t as simple as that. He liked the feeling of Ed inside him, he liked how Ed touched him… he just didn’t like it enough to be able to come from it. Something about the sensation, just kept throwing him off. Too much, too alien, too _something_.

“It’s not…” Roy hesitated, unsure how to put it. He didn’t want Ed to think he didn't want it. He just needed something else. “The sensation is too distracting,” he said finally, fitting his palm against the side of Ed’s face and placing his thumb at the corner of the parted, moist lips in lieu of the kiss Ed wasn't giving him. “Too much, too many things to keep track of. But if I didn’t enjoy it I wouldn't be doing it with you.” Roy slid his thumb in, finding the wetness of Ed’s tongue with the pad of his thumb over it. “I want to feel you come inside me,” he said, sensing that he was losing Ed, his eyes were all too clear now, and desperate to make himself understood. “I want to see you do it, feel you spill inside me, want to feel the power of your body when you lose control. You are so hot right now,” and oh god, he was. Alive and primal in his lust, in the sheer virility of the act. “You have no idea, Edward, no idea how much I want you right now.”

Something he said broke through, snapping the rigid tension, and Ed fell against him, lips open and hungry. They kissed, or the closest they could get to it with Ed moving quick and hard against him, fucking him him in shorter, faster jabs of his hips, finally letting himself chase his own orgasm.

It was every bit as glorious as Roy expected, feeling Ed lose it, push to get as deep inside Roy as he possibly could. He would always remember the sound of his name on Ed’s lips, his voice low and ragged.

He held Ed close through the aftershocks, letting him pulse and spill inside him, greedy for every bit of his lover. His hair was tangled now and damp, spilling over them both, and Roy loved every second of it.

They lay motionless for a while, heartbeats settling back to something approximating normal. Roy hissed, oversensitive and sore, when Ed finally moved, pulling out of him slowly and rolling to the side, his legs tangled with Roy’s. His skin was hot and slick with sweat. When Ed reached for his cock, Roy wrapped his hand loosely around Ed’s fingers. Not to direct him -- Ed’s touch was perfectly firm -- but just to enjoy the touch of his hands, the feeling of Ed wanting to take care of Roy. He wasn’t lying before, when he said he liked it. He was turned on beyond belief. He just needed a different sort of stimulation to come. Ed kissed him through the orgasm, open mouthed and wet, fucking his mouth with his tongue just as he had with his cock moments ago. His hand was tight and perfect, stroking Roy to orgasm with a sure touch.

They stayed wrapped up in each other for a long time after, slowly coming down from the rush, listening to the sounds of the camp and savoring the fading sensations.

“I don’t get you sometimes,” Edward said, his head on Roy’s shoulder, his hand tracing idle shapes on Roy’s belly.

“I liked you fucking me,” Roy said, deliberately blunt. Sometimes he just needed to speak Ed’s language to make him understand. “I’m definitely looking forward to repeat performances.” And what a performance it was, Ed hot and hard above him. Yes, Roy was definitely going to partake in that again. “You can manhandle me a little more next time,” he added suggestively, imagining how it would feel to have Ed really let loose. The thought of all that carefully cultivated power turned on himself was enough to start heating up his belly. He looked at Ed’s arm, the firm curve of his biceps, and lifted his hand to curve his fingers around it, just to feel the steel of the muscles stretched under the golden skin. He licked his lips, images of Ed hard and flushed above him coming back to him.

“ _Manhandle_ ,” Ed sounded strangled as he repeated Roy’s words.

Roy hummed in confirmation, mind busy with different scenarios. “You are very strong and very fit,” he said, not even bothering to hide smugness in his voice. “It turns me on.”

Ed lifted his head to stare at Roy for a long moment, then blushed hotly and hid his head in Roy’s shoulder again, groaning loudly. “You are such a pervert, I swear.” His words, grumpy as they were, didn’t quite mask the embarrassed pleasure.

Roy stroked his hair comfortingly, thinking of all the ways he could take advantage of Ed’s fitness. “And yet,” he said, “here you are.”

Ed stilled, and Roy combed back through his words, wondering what he'd said to break the mood.

“I am, aren’t I?” Ed murmured, pushing up and away from Roy.

“Edward,” Roy called, reaching to catch him, but Ed was already sliding towards the edge of the bed.

“What are the boxes in the other room?” Ed asked brusquely, digging through the bedding to find his discarded clothes.

Roy frowned, looking at the slope of Ed's shoulders and the angle of his face. He couldn’t read him, and that disturbed him more than he could name.

“Most of the High Command is heading back to Central tomorrow,” he said quietly. Some part of him hated Ed for asking. He could have given them the night, at least. Could have given Roy a few more hours before forcing them to face reality.

Ed nodded, nothing more than a tiny dip of his jaw. “I take it that means you too, right?” he asked, not looking at him as he pulled on his wrinkled shirt.

Roy tried very hard not to feel resentful at how easy this always seemed to Edward. Then and now. “Yes.” He touched the still-healing stitches on his chest, the only remaining sign of the assassination attempt.

Ed got up, all messy hair and golden body. Roy watched him, silent, choking down the emotions he couldn’t hide fast enough.

“I got something for you,” Ed said, walking towards the desk and picking up the package he'd discarded there earlier. He brought it over and set it down beside Roy, perching on the edge of the bed just out of Roy’s reach. They looked at the burlap-wrapped lump. It was about the size of a watermelon, its surface rough and uneven.

“What is it?” he asked, watching Ed instead of the package.

“I had to get rid of some unexpected carbon in my reactions.” Ed pulled at the burlap, undoing the string holding it together. “It doesn't look like much yet since I have no idea how to do facets, but you should be able to figure it out.”

Roy didn't want a gift. He was feeling lost and angry, wrong footed and downright bitter. He didn’t want this thing between them to end so fast, not again, even though he knew it would probably be better for Ed to get away from the military and the politics, find someone to share his life with, maybe even start a family. He would be a good father, Roy thought ruefully. He had so much love to give.

The burlap fell away and Roy put his hand carelessly on the lump of brownish white rock, not paying too much attention to what he was doing. Sensing the structure of matter wasn’t precisely alchemy, but it was a close cousin. He didn’t need to have a closed, fully active circle to do it, but he did need the intent, the potential that sparked when he closed the circle or touched an array.

He sensed carbon first, tightly packed and layered, but somehow different. There were no impurities, just pure carbon, but something about the composition was odd. Rare.

Roy looked more closely at the lump of rock beside him and put his other hand on it, trying to figure out what he was sensing. Carbon, yes, and a hell of a lot of it. Graphite? No, the strength of connection belied that. He probed deeper into its structure and then blinked as it finally registered. The atoms were bound tightly together, deeply resistant to change, but it was the tetrahedral structure that finally told him what it was.

A diamond. A fucking _huge_ diamond.

Roy traced the tight connections, the rigid structure, admiring the classic beauty of it… and then he felt the minute deformations in the crystal lattice. This wasn’t an ordinary gemstone. Nitrogen. Miniscule amounts of it, but enough to...to do what? He dredged up something he'd read a long time ago. Color. Impurities in a diamond would create color. Specifically, in this case, red. And since Ed hadn't found this diamond, he'd made it, any impurities would have been a conscious choice. A _design_.

A perfect, red diamond the size of a watermelon. Uncut and oddly shaped, it was probably the biggest diamond to ever exist. He stared at the thing. There were alchemists who specialized in gemstones, he'd seen them create some amazing ones, but so far as he knew they couldn’t create anything bigger than an egg. It wasn’t a lack of knowledge, it was a lack of power. The arrays required to grow precious stones required such great amounts of energy that most masters of such processes stuck to much smaller gemstones, focusing on quality and uniqueness of the end result rather than size.

What Ed had just given him was nothing short of a miracle, as well as a stunning fortune in one go.

“How?” Later he would laugh at himself, but in that moment the scientist in him won the battle for control. Beneath its rough exterior the gemstone was flawless in quality, the color only making it more beautiful and unique. “How did you even do this?”

Ed shrugged. “I fucked up with my arrays, let them overlay too closely, and ended up with a fuckload of carbon and too much energy spiralling out of control. So I shoved them all together and made this.”

“Why red?” A white one would have been easier. Red required forcing a very specific change onto the atomic structure, and that couldn't have been easy.

“I was thinking of your array,” Ed said quietly. “How delicately it was built. The latticework of connections. Red diamonds get their color from the nitrogen impurities in the lattice crystal structure early on in the formation of the crystal.” He didn’t turn his head towards Roy, but he had the impression Ed was watching him from the corner of his eye anyway. “So it’s red,” he concluded. “Like your fire.”

His fire.

Something Ed should have hated. His flames... they went against everything he believed in. And yet he didn’t seem to.

“Edward,” he tried again, sensing he was missing something but too stunned to rally his thoughts quickly enough.

“Would you do something for me?” Ed asked, and oh, Roy nearly laughed. It was such a dangerous question to ask him. The answer even more so.

“What?” he asked, stalling, afraid and angry at how much his answer would reveal. Because above all, Roy just wanted to _give_ Ed things, whatever he wanted, always.

“Lift your hand,” Ed said. “The right one.”

Roy frowned but did as instructed. He raised his right hand and turned it palm up, holding it between them. “Like this?”

Ed nodded. He scrubbed his face with his hands in a quick and nearly violent motion, then turned to face Roy. His eyes were wide and dark, the pupils almost swallowing up the color. He looked pale and strangely… afraid? No, that wasn’t the right word, surely Ed wasn't afraid of anything? Roy couldn’t quite name the emotions chasing each other across Ed’s face. There were too many of them.

“It occured to me that you…” Ed swallowed. “Back in your apartment in Central, that time you picked up my drunk ass of the street and took care of me.” Edward licked his lips. “Do you remember?”

Roy remembered all right. How could he not? It was the day Edward broke his heart. Not something one forgot easily. “I do,” he said quietly, evenly, not letting Ed see what the memory of that day did to him.

“You said...” Edward licked his lips again, leaning forward, his messy hair slithering over his shoulders. “You offered me something.”

Roy remembered Ed, younger and at the same time so tired, burdened with horrible knowledge. He remembered Ed standing in his kitchen, in his borrowed clothes, the morning sun lighting his hair like a halo. He remembered his apology, and the way he had turned away, not looking back even once. Roy remembered it all.

“I did,” he said, his voice retaining its smoothness by sheer force of will alone.

“And I…” Ed shook his head. “Thing is, you said you understood. But you never took it back. You never said to forget it or anything… Am I right? You…” Ed’s voice faltered, becoming small and, yes, afraid. “Did you?”

Roy looked at his own hand, palm open, between them. Almost like that morning when he stopped thinking and offered himself to someone who didn't have space in his life for him.

“I never took back my offer,” Roy said quietly, looking from his extended hand towards Edward. “If that is what you are asking. It's always been there for you.” Roy's throat was tight and painful. “If you wanted it.”

Ed reached out his own hand, laying it very carefully in Roy’s palm, as if the lightest touch could break Roy, or maybe himself.

“Can I accept it now?” Ed asked, that familiar brilliant, fearless bravery in his voice, in his eyes, as he looked at Roy.

Ed was terrified, Roy realized. The hand in his was shaking. Roy closed his fingers warmly, gently, around Ed's hand and let out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he whispered, pulling Ed closer by their clasped hands. “Please.” He wasn’t one to beg, usually. But he would beg for this.

“Oh thank god,” Ed said in a rush and launched himself at Roy, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tightly. “I was terrified I had it all wrong.”

Roy thought he might choke on the emotions swelling in his chest. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Ed’s, just breathing him in. “I love you,” he said helplessly. “You fascinate me. Everything about you is brilliant and fascinating and admirable and...” Roy tangled his free hand into Ed’s hair, loving the heat of his skin on his fingers. “I missed you so much.” He could feel Ed trembling, just a little, whether from relief or emotion was hard to say..

“Thank you,” Ed said, his voice breaking a little. “For letting me come back. For giving me time to understand what I felt.” He pulled back enough to look at Roy. “I’m so in love with you it makes me downright stupid,” he said, the expression on his face half awe, half irritation.

Roy laughed, closing his eyes. Because that was what Ed made him do. Ed made him feel alive, made him laugh at how grumpy and irritable he was most of the time. Roy didn't need hope in his life, not when he had Edward instead.

“What?” Ed asked, eying him with that delightful half grumpy expression.

“Nothing. Everything,” Roy said, feeling light and giddy.

“Oh my god.” Edward leaned back, watching him with narrowed eyes. “You are going to be a sap about it, aren't you?”

Roy laughed again, louder and wider this time. “You have no idea, Edward, not the faintest idea just how _sappy_ I intend to get.” Because all Roy had ever needed to spoil Edward rotten was his permission.

Ed’s face went through a series of complicated expressions, from distaste to embarrassment to calculation and finally shy pleasure. “Well... just not in public,” he muttered, not sounding nearly as resistant to the idea as he clearly thought he should.

Roy laughed again, feeling lighter and happier than he had in years. He caught Ed’s face in his hands and kissed him. Oh, he was definitely going to be sappy in public, but he was going to let Edward find that out on his own.

The End.


End file.
